Lambs to the Slaughter
by DevinBourdain
Summary: Steve needed to get away and clear his head; free himself from the responsibility and burden of trying to live up to his own legend. Naturally Tony decides to intrude upon Rogers' week of tranquility and turn it into a chance for a guy's weekend, but when they arrive at the cabin a very large wolf puts a damper on the weekend and could foretell the return of a former enemy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Avengers characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated

Based from a prompt by **Twisted-67**

**Lambs to the Slaughter**

Steve sucked in a deep breath of fresh air as he climbed off of his bike. There was nothing for miles except the peaceful serine mountains and the quiet of the thick forest. He stood before the cabin and took in its simplicity. It wasn't the usual overly grand place Rogers had pictured when Natasha had offered him the keys to Stark's getaway cabin. It was actually exactly what Steve had had in mind; a simple place to center himself and hopefully, finally, accept what his life had become. He unstrapped his bag from the back of his bike and fished out the keys for the cabin.

The door swung open revealing a simple furnished dwelling free of the technology that Stark was famous for. It quickly became apparent that this property was the purchase of Pepper and not Stark; in fact Steve wouldn't be surprised if Tony's first time at the cabin wouldn't be his promised visit at the end of the week.

Rogers claimed one of the upstairs bedrooms as his own and returned to the main floor to start his work. He pulled all the dust protector sheets off of the furniture and shook them out on the small porch that wrapped itself along the cottage. The living room was small but beautiful; the furniture antique, and the focal point of the room was the large fireplace in the northern wall. Steve mentally added chopping fire wood to his to do list.

Steve unpacked the few provisions he brought and started compiling a list of items he would have to pick up at the local general store. The small mountain town was a few miles away and consisted of one store, a small dinner and a gas station. It definitely had that small town flavour that Steve was glad to experience after have been exposed to the hustle and bustle of New York for the last year.

It was going to be the quiet and relaxing week that Rogers needed to recharge his batteries and sort some things out. He really needed to get his head straightened out after his last adventure. He thought he had come to terms with everything that had happened to him but after the enemy plane crashed in the arctic with him and Hawkeye aboard, Steve had discovered that he was wrong.

A gentle breeze blew playfully across the porch as Steve settled with a glass of lemonade and his sketch pad. The familiar action and feel of a pencil gracing paper helped him relax, but even then he couldn't forget his troubles; sketch after sketch depicted members of the team, of _his _team. When Loki had brought an army to destroy the world, it had been so easy to slip into soldier mode, to keep the rest of the Avengers at a professional distance but as the battles continued and friendships threatened to form, that tactic was no longer an option.

War was bloody and it had taken absolutely everything from Steve, his best friend, his girl, his place in time; he didn't want to get attached to people that were just as likely to meet some horrible fate. He didn't think he could handle such a loss again, but keeping the team at a distance was causing them more harm than good. The painful fact that Stark was right had been lurking in the back of his mind; they weren't soldiers, they were family. The only real question left was could Rogers embrace them and the potential loss or protect himself but put them in danger by keeping them at a distance.

Cramps claimed his fingers as they tightened around the pencil; the lines growing darker and deeper on the paper. The simple portraits of team members engaging in everyday activities quickly turned to scenes of loved ones lost and gravely injured Avengers. The pencil snapped as Steve stared down at a drawing of Barton chained outside at the Hydra facility; anger flared through him before ripping the page from his sketch book, crumpling it into a ball and lobbing it across the yard.

His chest heaved as he gasped for air; the world feeling like it was closing in around him. He sank to his knees, unable to find the energy hold himself up on the porch railing any longer. A million thoughts raced through his head, most focusing on how woefully inadequate he was to lead this team of superheroes. In the war things had been simpler, he stood on the side of right and that was all he needed to get through the day; good was destined to triumphant over evil. This world… this world didn't have black and white, everything was muddled in a haze of indiscernible shades of grey. The good guys had just as many secrets as the bad guys and sometimes doing the wrong thing was the answer on how to win. Disputes weren't settled in battle they were negotiated and manipulated in dark corners and shadows. The cost of winning the war seemed extremely high considering the current state of the world; they won their freedom but lost their souls.

A lone painful howl echoed through the forest and pulled Steve from his reverie. Somehow without Rogers knowing, day had slipped into night and left him shivering in the dark. The howl sounded again and Steve felt sympathetic to the creature's plight; it might have been a cry from a different species, but suffering was suffering. Picking himself up off the ground, he made his way inside to crawl into bed. Perhaps things would be better for both lone creatures tomorrow.

* * *

Sleep never came. Eventually tossing and turning turned into too much of an effort for the simple pretence that it would capture elusive sleep. With the first rays of sunlight reaching over the mountains, Steve tied up his hiking boots and set out on a jog. It was nice to get out in the fresh air and listen to nothing but the birds as they slowly welcomed the new day. A sense of peace washed over Steve like he hadn't felt in he couldn't remember when; there was no evil lurking, no pending threat, just the wide open trail in the tranquil forest.

He ran until his muscles burned with a deep ache and then he ran some more; sweat dripping off of wayward strands of matted hair when he happened upon the shore line of a secluded lake. He knelt down and splashed a handful of refreshingly cool water over his face. It felt delightful and soon Steve found himself shrugging out of his shirt and diving in. The now hot afternoon sun was beating down, heating the water to manageable lukewarm temperature.

The lone howl in the distance reminded Rogers that he wasn't completely alone. The call sounded lonely and painful, stirring a sense of empathy within the super soldier. The creature was probably the leader of his pack, burdened with the responsibility of protecting his family, keeping them safe from the big bad world. It was a lonely role filled with heart ache and anguish but as the blond listened to a second wolf join in, he knew he didn't want to face the world alone; he wanted the comfort of _his_ pack, however mismatched and rag-tagged they might be. The things that he loved about the team were also the qualities that constantly put them in danger; he would just have to do a better job of protecting them, of making the right calls.

It all seemed so simple out there in the wilderness away from the trappings of the modern world. The answers that had been dancing just out of his reach were staring him in the face with crystal clarity and all that remained was the will power and determination to make them work; faith in himself to do right by those he cared about.

Calmer than when he left the cabin, Steve waded out of the lake and threw his clothes back on. The tranquil water had washed away his many of his doubts and he resolved to attack his issues with renewed determination and attitude. He could do it, he was Captain America after all. He needed to shake the self doubt that had taken root upon waking up in 2011 and be the person he knew he could be. The team just needed him to be him and let them be themselves; simple in theory, complicated on practice.

Steve's attention snapped back to the world half way back to the cabin when the forest became eerily silent. There was a distinctive lack of buzzing insects and singing birds; the hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood on end and he paused mid stride to survey his surroundings. The only thing he could see in any direction was the soft natural tones of the forest but that didn't allow his heart stop pounding. He strained his ears, listening for anything that might alert him to impending danger; frantic scratching and rattling pulled him further down the trail. Cautiously, Steve left the beaten path and made his way over the rough terrain towards the sound.

He reached up and pushed several branches out of his face, revealing the impressive form of a very large wolf. Rogers' breathe caught in his throat as the massive beast locked eyes with him, its lips curling around blood stained teeth. Steve stumbled back as the beast surged forward, all teeth and claws; the gruesome face snapping and snarling mere inches from his face. He raised his arm to try and fend off the attack but the wolf came up short; Steve peered around the massive bulk of blood matted fur to find the wolf's leg securely trapped between a set of giant metal jaws. Steve scrambled to his feet taking in the creature before him. The wolf was clearly having a bad day as it was mangled from something much worse than the steel trap around its leg.

Despite its injuries the wolf was determined to fend off any advance from his human adversary. Steve watched for a few moments, debating what course of action he should peruse. There was no denying the spirit and ferocity of the creature before him that would surely be visited upon Steve should he put himself within the animal's reach, but there was something in its eyes, a human quality that the super soldier couldn't ignore. Raising his hands in a nonthreatening gesture, Rogers began to inch forward cautiously.

The wolf locked eyes with him, coiling, ready to pounce at the man once again. "Easy there buddy," soothed Steve as he slowed his movements down even more. Again the wolf snapped when the blond moved within reach; fear and pain ever present in it's all too human eyes.

Rogers pulled back and looked around for anything that could help him free the wounded beast. Telegraphing his movements, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the granola bar he had grabbed with the intention of eating for breakfast and peeled the wrapper away. He let out a deep breath before breaking off a small piece, placing it in the palm of his hand. It wasn't the best idea in the world, but he was counting on his super reflexes to save his fingers should his instincts prove wrong. Keeping his hand steady as possible, Steve slowly stretched out his arm offering the tasty morsel up in a gesture of friendship and safety.

The wolf hunched down preparing to attack once again but paused as Rogers offered a warm smile, the scent of food tickling his snout, and curled himself into a small of threat as possible. They stared at each other; neither one quite trusting the other. Eventually the mass of black fur stuck its nose in the air and began to sniff, hesitantly moving closer to the out stretched hand. In a flash it grabbed the chunk of food and scrambled out of Steve's reach.

"See, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you," murmured Rogers. He broke off another piece and held it out as he moved a few inches closer. The wolf looked hesitant but took the food, slower this time.

With the last bit in hand, Steve offered it to the frightened creature while bring his other hand up to stroke behind its shredded ears. The wolf let out a small growl but cut its protest off as it leaned into Rogers soothing touch. "Let's get you out of that trap, shall we?"

Very slowly, ever mindful that the wolf seemed to keep its eyes glued on his every movement, Steve reached over and grabbed the jaws of the metal trap. Drawing on his super strength he pried the vicious grip of the metal teeth open. The terrible gashes on the wolf's leg began to bleed freely as the pressure was released and a low whine vibrated through the animal. The second the metal contraption was pulled from the wolf's leg it leaped forward over Rogers' shoulder.

The beast was large to start with, enough muscle that Steve was knocked back by the force of it leaping away. The Captain caught a brief flash of black out of the corner of his eye as his feet fought to maintain purchase on the ground. Steve failed and topples over; a loud click and snap followed before a rush of excruciating pain ripped up his leg. His hand automatically reached out to grab his wounded limp and as the world came back into focus from the haze of pain, he realized he was now in the same situation he had found the wolf in.


	2. Chapter 2

The pain brought Steve to a heap on the forest floor as the giant steel jaws of the trap bit and tore into his flesh. His fingers failed to gain purchase on the cold teeth as they slipped through the warm blood that was oozing, coating everything. Freeing himself was made all the more awkward by the angle in which he had to attempt to manipulate the trap, not to mention the agony that was sapping his strength.

Steve frantically looked around for anything that could help give him leverage against the oppressive grip, something to pry open the metal mouth and allow him pull his mangled leg out. Soft mumurs whispered on the wind reached his ears and slowly began to grow louder like the thudding of his heart. Someone was close by and judging by the voices and sound of footfalls it was several someones.

"Help!" called Rogers, his voice cracking under the pain burning in his leg.

Disheartening silence greeted him. Was his desperation playing tricks on him, offering the promise of salvation when there was none? He sucked in a shaky breath trying to breathe and calm his agony enough to try and think. He needed to come up with a plan... he needed to get that damn trap off of his leg.

Steve paused in his useless attempts at freedom as once again the sounds of someone else in the forest tickled his ears. "Is someone there?"

Silence.

"I could use some help... anyone?"

"See you got your foot stuck some place it ain't supposed to be," came a voice from behind causing Steve to flinch.

Rogers' head snapped around to take in the raggedy looking mountain man stroking his shotgun. Ignoring the uneasiness slithering in his gut, he asked, "Do you think you can give me hand, sir?"

The man stared, scrutinizing every inch of the blond huddled on the ground holding his mangled limb. He pursed his lips together before readjusting his grip on his gun.

Steve let out a groan as his calf muscle spasamed causing the teeth of the trap to bit in further. "A little help, please?" pleaded the Captain.

"Well what do we have here, Roy?" asked a man with greasy black hair that matched the oiliness of his voice as he came around the bend with a larger, angrier man trailing behind him. The three hunters looked at Steve like he was some sort of wounded animal.

Roy simply grunted in response to the smaller man's question.

The uneasy feeling that had started deep in Steve's gut was now crawling like thousands of spiders over his skin. Normally three men, even survivalist up in the woods wouldn't be a match for Captain America, but the trap was firmly secured around his leg limiting both mobility and stamina.

"As I was saying to your friend here, I could use some help," clarified Steve. It took a lot of effort to keep his voice smooth and devoid of pain.

"What happened to the wolf?" demanded the largest man.

"Good question Frank. Well what did you do with our wolf blondie?" asked the smaller man.

The wolf. The situation was rapidly becoming clearer and the picture it was revealing only indicated a struggle in the near future. The righteous part of Rogers would revel in teaching a couple of poachers a lesson but the situation as it was only spelt a good beating coming his way. "The wolf, huh. Isn't it kind of illegal?"

Steve braced himself for the coming fight as the three men loomed over him. Roy slammed the butt of his gun into the Captain's side and Steve managed to grab a hold of the gun, engaging in a game of tug-o-war with the hunter. He was bracing himself for the blows the other two men were threatening to rain down upon him when a flash of black shot across his vision.

Rogers watched as the two hunters began to fight against a snarling beast covered in black fur and blood. The momentary distraction was all Roy needed to get a good shot at Steve's head. Pain exploded as the gun connected solidly with the side of his head.

He was only out for a minute or two, the sounds of deep throaty growls, snarls and yelps of pain greeting Steve. Rubbing the blood out of his left eye Rogers took in the large wolf holding a defensive position between him and the now retreating hunters.

The wolf shook his blood matted hair before stiffly turning to glare at the man in the trap. He had been a mangled mess before but tangling with the poachers had added new grisly wounds to the creature's vast collection and Steve had to wonder how the animal was even on its feet.

Rogers hesitantly pushed himself into a sitting position, careful to not startle his furry friend and face the wrath of the blood stained fangs. It was the same problem as before, the awkward angle and range of motion required to free himself from the trap was near impossible on his own.

"You already saved my life but I don't suppose you have a pair of bolt cutters or something tucked away in your fur by any chance?" panted Rogers, his last three attempts to pry the metal jaws open having proved fruitless.

The wolf cocked its head almost like it was trying to understand Steve. A low whine escaped the animal before it slowly got to its feet and limped back into the bushes.

"I guess we're even," he said to the empty space his former companion occupied. The Captain flopped back on the ground, trying to find a less painful position in which to focus his thoughts on a way out of this predicament. The dirt whispered a soft thud and Rogers turned his head to find the wolf had dropped a large stick within arm's reach. He quirked and eyebrow at the intelligence displayed but put it off as a point to ponder later.

Using the stick he managed to find the leverage to pry the trap open just enough. With a new found swiftness, he yanked his leg out of the way before the steel jaws snapped shut again with a tremendous snap. Blood began to ooze, no longer blocked by the pressure enforced by the tightly coiled springs and cold metal. Steve's whole leg thrummed with pain and he found himself gritting his teeth to manage it. His body's protest died down thanks in part to his healing ability; unfortunately it wouldn't be enough to magically fix the carnage. Looking at the damage encored, Rogers would probably be limping for the next few days but he wouldn't be in danger of bleeding to death. All the same, he pulled off his shirt and tied it tightly around his calf.

The two mangled creatures lay in the debris littered forest floor trying to catch their breath. Beaten and worn, they laid there until the sun shone brightly overhead. Turning his head to get a better view, the Captain took in the horrors that had been inflicted by his unlikely saviour. It was cruelty at its finest and a wrath incurred over years not one measly morning tangled in the trap. Despite the injuries, the creature came back in some misguided attempt at revenge? Loyalty perhaps?

A steady hand found itself rubbing soothing circles through tangled fur, receiving nothing more than a cautious glance as a response. "You and I share the same problem friend," whispered Rogers, again admiring the look of understanding the wolf offered. "We're too moral to turn a blind eye, but too dumb to walk away. And look what it gets us? We're both messes, but let me ask you this, can you look your friends in the eye?"

The wolf whined in response before nudging Steve's hand to scratch higher.

His previous entanglement with Hydra and his decision to leave Barton still haunted his dreams. His brief conversation with the archer before slipping out of the tower had only served as a reminder of how bad you could mess thing ups. Continuing his ramblings as a distraction from the pain of slowly getting to his feet, he muttered, "Coming back for me wasn't the best decision you could have made. I guess we have poor decision making skills in common, huh?"

With a huff the Avenger slung the pliable wolf over his shoulder and began the painstaking task of limping back to the cabin, getting well timed whines in response to the one sided conversation Steve was carrying on.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve collapsed on the area rug in the cabin after depositing his four legged friend on the couch. Both beings laid there in silence trying to catch their breath. It hadn't be the most arduous journey of his career or the longest, but eight kilometres through the forest on uneven trails, packing a huge wolf, in the sweltering sun, on a ravaged very close to busted ankle, definitely raised the difficulty level. The Captain couldn't even summon the energy to form a single thought at that moment and he let his heavy eyelids droop closed.

It only lasted a couple of minutes, injuries needed tending, and the nagging thirst that had taken hold, at three kilometres back to the cabin, refused to be ignored any longer. Muscles that finally had a second to relax, protested immensely but begrudgingly complied to the owners desired moves. Hobbling carefully to the main level bathroom, Steve rummaged through the cupboards looking for a first aid kit. He found success under the sink and brought his arm load of treasures back to the living room.

The wolf watched his every movement carefully but didn't adopt a hostile demeanour. Rogers unpacked his kit and laid the items out on the small coffee table before undoing his hasty patch job on his ankle. He let out a sharp hiss as he released the pressure on the wound and worked quickly to stem the bleeding which began to flow free once more.

He stared at the mangled carnage of the wound, the only comparable experience being some of the patch jobs he had to perform on his fellow soldier behind enemy lines. It hadn't been earned through such extraordinary means this time and his serum enhanced physiology would circumvent any permanent damage but it didn't take away the queasy feeling that bubbled within from looking at the damage. It wasn't a professional job by any means but the bleeding was stopped, the pain decreased and moving on that foot was more manageable.

His next pressing task was to tend to his fury friends. Steve's bleeding heart didn't stop at mankind and the horrific condition of the wolf tugged at every single heart string. The animal was mangy and broken, displaying injuries and scaring that suggested a life time of mistreatment and suffering. There was so much that the Captain was at a loss as to where to start medical treatment, hoping that the techniques used on people would be sufficient enough to aid the animal. The creature gave out a pathetic whimper as Rogers tenderly started cleaning a front paw.

The fear was evident in the wolf's over expressive eyes. Steve had seen that look many times before in abused children, terrified that the tender soothing touch so rarely offered would turn into a heavy hand that often took its anger out on them. "What's happened to you?" he whispered in sympathy.

The wolf ran its tongue over then many splits and cuts along its mouth before cautiously placing his snout on Steve's hand. The Avenger would have sworn the beast was trying to answer the question with its eyes, eyes that spoke of betrayal, mistrust and agony.

With the medical portion of their earlier adventure seen too, Steve made his way to the kitchen. The meagre amount of supplies that he had brought seemed neither appetising nor sufficient enough at the moment, but the prospect of trying to ride into the small town and buy more was exhausting in thought, let alone the energy it would take to physically perform the task. Sighing he set to work preparing a sandwich comprised of tomato and cheese opting to break up the pepperoni in tiny bite size pieces for his friend rather than eating it himself.

The wolf watched Steve every second, never losing sight of the human that had dared to show a kind hand. Rogers returned quickly, wishing the heavy feeling of being scrutinized would disappear once his guest enjoyed a full stomach. Placing the plate of meat at the creature's paws, he collapsed in the over-stuffed chaise, polishing off his sandwich in record time.

After watching the human scarf down his meal, the wolf hesitantly sniffed at his offerings. A few pieces were choked down, testing the waters before the beast finished the snack stopping just shy of licking the finish off of the plate.

The Captain smiled as the wolf crept closer to place its snout on his thigh. Without thought Steve brought his hand up to scratch behind the fuzzy ears, ever mindful of the multitude of bandaged wounds present.

"You need a name. I can't just keep calling you wolf," sighed Steve.

The wolf rolled its head to the side; enough to make eye contact but still reap the benefits of the man's glorious scratching.

"How about Peter?" asked Rogers, quirking his eye brow in hope, as the name rolled around his mouth.

The wolf gave a small whine of displeasure.

"No? You're right, Peter caught the wolf. Balto?"

Black fur and slobber filled the air as the creature shook his head.

Steve let out another sigh. He had never been good at naming things, which was probably the only blessing in never being able to own a pet. Even his most prized possession as a child had been saddled with the moniker of Mr Bear. "I'm running out of ideas here. Wolves haven't been depicted very well in stories and you're a second away from becoming Mr Wolf."

Rogers tried to brush off what suspiciously looked like an eye roll from the wolf and searched his memory for anything that might be more suitable. "The only other thing that comes to mind is Searchlight but she was a dog..." He was cut off as the wolf bulled him over, licking his face until Steve couldn't breathe. Getting the wolf to sit back down, Rogers wiped the drool from his face. "Searchlight it is, I guess."

Somewhere in the kitchen the shrill cry of a phone sounded. Exactly eight people knew where Captain America disappeared too, and if it was an emergency that required him to don the red, white and blue, then he suspected a quinjet would already be landing in front of the cabin. Embracing that it would take far too much energy to pry himself off of the chair and hobble to the kitchen, he opted for letting it go unanswered. Eventually the ringing gave way to a beep and Stark's voice invaded the once peaceful cabin. Trust Tony to have an answering machine, let alone a phone in a remote cabin.

"_Rogers, I'm sure you're out somewhere singing kumbaya or whatever it is you do when no one's watching, but I wanted to inform you... ah, who are we kidding, I was threatened to tell you we're coming up early. We'll be there Thursday not Saturday. Someone needs to show you how to relax, though the cabin wouldn't be my first choice_," rambled Tony.

Steve scrubbed his hand across his face. Tony somehow managed to be irritating even through a phone line.

"_We will get to part take in these smores Barton had mentioned_?" bellowed Thor in the background.

"_Yes_!" snapped the billionaire, his voice demonstrating the frustration Rogers was beginning to feel. "_You and bird brain can get hopped up on as much sugar as you can handle. Now, stop trying to toast the mini marshmallows with my Bunsen burner_."

A loud crash reverberated over the answer machine followed by a sting of obscenities that didn't quite come out clear. With a huff Tony added, "_We might be there even earlier if I don't kill Thor first_!"

Rogers let out a snort as the machine beeped ending Stark's rant. Searchlight let out a small worried yet sympathetic whine at the prospect of visitors. Patting the wolf's head he soothed, "I know exactly how you feel." He had come up here to clear his head and come to terms with the disaster that was his last mission but he had barely begun to scratch the surface of those issues and now Tony was threatening to show up and bring Thor and Barton with him. He just wasn't ready to look Hawkeye in the eye yet.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve grabbed another pair of slacks from the organized chaos spread out on his bed. He rolled the pants before wedging them tightly in his backpack. He was traveling to Tony's cabin on his motorcycle and only had room for essentials, not that he owned much of anything that would be considered frivolous to start with. A couple changes of clothes and his sketch pad could see him through the week. Eyeing the novel sitting on the night stand that Bruce had lent him, Rogers opted to leave it behind. The point of this trip was to do some soul searching and come to a decision about what kind of leader he was going to be, if he could handle the choices that he would continuously be forced to make.

Fastening his bag closed he took one last survey of his room to make sure he wasn't leaving anything important behind. His hand hovered on the door handle as Steve's internal debate whether or not to see Barton before he left raged. Natasha had been kind enough to give Rogers updates on his teammate's recovery and while he wasn't sure the others knew the sordid details of what transpired, they seemed to over look his lack of presence around the archer. Even Tony was being _nice_ to him. It made things worse in Steve's mind. There should be outrage, and looks of disgust thrown his way for what he did, but everyone seemed so understanding. Even so, Steve didn't think he could look Clint in the eye ever again.

Steve made his way down to the lobby without running into anyone. He was in the home stretch to sneaking out without having to explain his need to just get away from everything and everyone for awhile, but like most things in his life, that lucky streak didn't hold out. The second elevator dinged behind him and he turned to see Clint fight his way through the door. Barton looked much better than the last time Steve laid eyes on him. The sickly shade of pale blue that had tinged the archer's skin had been replaced with his usual healthy tan color, but he still wasn't at one hundred percent. Hobbling on crutches with a precision and grace that spoke to vast experience, Barton tried to catch up to Rogers.

Biting his lip, Steve pushed the idea of making a run for the door out of his head. He could do this. The archer's wrath wasn't undeserved and after everything Rogers had let Clint suffer, the man had the right to unload on his incompetent leader.

The two stood awkwardly facing one another, neither sure where or who should start. After a few carefully dodged glances, Steve decided to make the first move. Nodding towards Clint's injury, he asked, "How's the knee?"

Clint ducked his head in shame, spelling out his belief that he had proven again what everyone else knew to be true; he was too breakable to be on a team of super heroes. "It's good, you don't have to worry about it," insisted Barton, "I'll be cleared for duty before you know it."

"I wasn't…" started Steve, tripping over his own tongue as he realized he was making a mess of things again. "I wasn't worried about it, I'm worried about you." He had gotten so use to hiding behind the shield and his professionalism that he's forgotten how to just be Steve, the scrawny kid who just wanted a friend.

The awkward silence stretched out again, killing all possible topics of small talk until there was nothing left but the issue both men wanted desperately to avoid.

"We gonna talk about that thing we're not talking about?" sighed Clint.

"Yeah."

"First, I'll work harder…" The words tumbled out of the archer's mouth like a man begging for his life.

"Clint," interrupted Rogers trying to stop the smaller man's ramblings but he continued as though Steve hadn't said a word.

"It won't happen again. I can prove to be an asset to this team and…"

"Barton."

"And I want to thank you…"

"Clint!" The archer's jaw snapped shut at the Captain's shout. The last statement threw Steve for a loop. "What the hell could you possibly have to thank me for?"

Clint stared at Steve, his features full of confusion at how Rogers didn't know what he had done. In turn Steve had a similar look. Neither seemed to understand the other's position on the events that transpired out in the cold barren wasteland, where Steve had made the horrible but necessary decision to leave Barton. "I left you to die Clint."

"No," Barton shook his head. "You had faith in me that I could take care of the situation, that I didn't need a babysitter while you saved the team. Most people don't believe I can do this. They make bad calls because they're too busy trying to protect me, the chink in the chain, to their job properly, and everything goes wrong from there. When I was first brought into SHIELD, there was a standing bet on how long I would last. Coulson was the first person who not only believed I could go up against the bad guys and survive but had faith that I could do this job, do more than just meet the objective. And after New York and everything... just thank you for trusting me to not be the weak link for once." Clint shrugged, before turning and making his arduous journey back to the elevator.

Steve stood there with his jaw hanging open. Somehow he had given Barton something he desperately needed. Taking a good hard look at the members of his team, Steve realized that maybe they were all just scared, lonely kids looking for someone to believe in them.

The elevator dinged open and Barton manoeuvred himself inside. His finger had just punched the button to his floor when Steve called out to him.

"Clint! We're all a little broken, but maybe between all of us there are enough pieces to make us whole."

The archer nodded as the doors slid shut. Neither one really embracing the sentiment that they were worthy.

* * *

"You alright there hon?" broke Steve out of his obsessive replaying of the events that transpired before leaving the tower.

The waitress leaned against the counter gesturing with the coffee pot in her hand at his half empty cup. Rogers rubbed a hand across his face and focussed on the present, leaving his mistakes and guilt behind for a moment. With a subtle nod, he pushed the well worn mug closer to the older lady for a warm up; the contents long having gone cold like his belief in himself.

"Just passing through?" she chirped with a delightful small town attitude. The lines around her eyes crinkled with her smile showing every year of her long life in the tragically bright yellow uniform.

"Just trying to get away for a week or so up at the cabin on the ridge," replied the Captain.

"You own the huge place?" asked the waitress with an amount of awe that suggested she was in the presence of royalty.

"It belongs to a... friend."

"Well that was very kind of him. Need to get away from your troubles?" she asked, tilting her head towards his heavily bandaged ankle.

Rogers subconsciously rubbed his injury. "Something like that, though this happened out in the woods yesterday. I'm just waiting for the general store to open to get some more supplies."

"Well sugar, you're in luck. Can't have a strapping boy like you waiting in agony when I happen to have a key to the store. Just so happens my brother's the owner, though he don't much like getting out of bed early, so you might be waiting awhile if we wait for him." Her smile exuded a charm that Steve hadn't seen since he left to join the army. It was familiar and calming in a way that made him terribly homesick.

"That would be very much appreciated ma'am," thanked Rogers with a nod as he stood up to pull his wallet out and deposit a bill on the counter.

"Don't worry about it. You barely drank any of your coffee; it's on the house." The waitress fumbled with her key ring, flipping through the various golden keys until she found the one she was searching for. Turning to the cook slaving away at the grill she called, "Dave, I'm going to take this young man over to the store, won't be gone more than a wink."

The cook absently waved his hand shooing them out the door.

"Really, this is very kind of you," said Steve, his feet biting into the gravel road. He offered her his hand, "My name's Steve."

"Helen," responded the waitress placing her calloused hand in his much larger one. "Small town folk tend to help each other out more than big city people do, so I assure it's no trouble."

The lock clicked and Helen pushed the door open. She nudged Rogers in before her before closing the door behind them. "The medical supplies should be down aisle four."

The Captain grabbed a small shopping basket from the front and made his way down the aisle. Grabbing two of everything the store had to offer in way of first aid supplies, filled the basket up quickly. Making his way back to the till he paused in front of the impressive display of hunting equipment, eyes narrowing on the large traps.

"Animal problem out at the cabin?" inquired Helen.

"You could say that," sighed the Avenger. He picked up the shot gun, feeling its weight in his hand. Would it be wise to have some sort of weapon handy in case Roy and his buddies felt they had unfinished business to take care of? He had left his weapons behind, along with the responsibility and trappings of being an Avenger under the false belief that he would be out there solely to do some soul searching, now it seem he could be drafted in to battle.

That nagging doubt began to surge forth again. Barton, Stark and Thor were going to be joining him soon, what if the poacher's tried to cause trouble then? How would he keep his people safe and out of trouble? He'd already proved that he wasn't enough on his own. With great resignation he placed the shot gun on the counter with his other supplies. Steve tried not to stare at the gun as Helen rang his items through.

"Will that be everything for you dear?"

The cooler behind the till caught Rogers' eye. "How about you add about six of those steaks." Searchlight, though huge in stature, looked like he could use a good meal and thanks to the serum, Steve could put away his fair share too.

He thanked Helen before stuffing his supplies into his backpack and climbing onto his bike. He had come to be alone but as the wind blew in his face and his bike cruised along the road, Rogers found himself looking forward to his silent companion back at the cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

They had fallen into an easy companionship over the last few days, a simple routine that allowed both to start to recuperate from their various injuries, both physical and psychological. There was an unspoken wariness that lingered, both waiting for the world to prove once again that it was a cold mistress but neither did anything to cause the other alarm. The wolf was ever in tune to the growing tension in Rogers as the day his friends were due to arrive drew ever near.

Searchlight stretched as he climbed off the couch to stiffly follow Steve upstairs to bed. Rogers had always wanted a dog, a friend that would curl up at the end of his bed; he dreamed about it every night when he was a child. Apparently wolves didn't sleep at the end of the bed, they took up the whole bed. Steve unrolled his bedding and set it up on the floor once again. Even if Searchlight wasn't the picture of walking wounded, he wasn't brave enough to tell a giant wolf that the bed was his.

It was the first night since the Hudson Bay mission that the Captain had fallen asleep and stayed asleep without the restless tossing and turning that had plagued him, fuelled by guilt he couldn't seem to shake. His peaceful slumber was interrupted by the annoying tickle of something wet brushing his cheek. Rogers brushed it away with his hand before rolling over to reclaim the wondrous embrace of sleep.

The cold wetness was replaced by a sharp persistent whine. Steve pried his eyes open, stifling a yawn while searching for the soft glow of the bedside alarm clock. He let out a frustrated sigh as the red numbers of the clock taunted him with three-thirty. "What is it boy?" he asked not bothering to fight the sleep that was reclaiming him.

A frustrated paw smacked into Steve's shoulder followed by a determined tug on his pyjama pant leg. "Ok, I'm up," yawned Rogers, staggering to his feet and fumbling for the light switch. Searchlight immediately ran towards the window and began scratching at the glass panes, growling at whatever had been bold enough to earn his attention.

Running a hand through his sleep mussed hair, the blond made his way to the window. He took but a second to take in the scene before bursting into action. A soft, "Shit," escaping his lips as he bolted for the stairs and the front door. Searchlight ran after the Captain, stopping a few feet from the blazing shed.

The flames flickered and danced in the night, reaching up towards the heavens in a desperate bid to touch the stars. If it wasn't such a force of destruction threatening to destroy the shed, the cabin and burn its way through the surround forest, it would have been beautiful; an impressive pallet of reds and oranges that any artist could appreciate.

Frantically strong hands spun the dial for the outside water line. Bring the hose to bear on the shed fire, Steve hit it with the full force of the water. The flames flickered and hissed as they were attacked, the parts of the shed so far left untouched quickly becoming drenched and inconsumable. The heat was intense but the Avenger stood his ground and continued his efforts.

The sharp and decisive stab of pain in the back of Steve's head brought him to his knees as Roy dropped the branch he struck the blond with. Rogers let out a low groan as he tenderly probed the aching lump, his hand coming away with a red sheen in the orange glow of the fire.

"Think you can mess with us Blondie and get away with it?" snarled Roy as he towered over the prone man. "That's our wolf and we don't take too kindly to people stealing out payday."

Steve knew he was seeing double but clearly Roy had brought his two constituents to the party. Gus tapped his crowbar in his hand while Frank cracked his knuckles, each waiting for a chance to deliver their own brand of justice on the tourist. Gus was just about to bring down the crowbar when a vicious growl and flash of fur streaked across Steve's vision knocking the slimy man to the ground.

Using the momentary distraction, the Avengers slammed his good foot into Frank's knee with a sickening crunch. The man collapsed in a heap of tears and profanity. Steve hauled himself upright, ignoring the way his head throbbed and the world swayed. He cracked a half smile as Roy put his fits up, shifting his weight back and forth; this Steve knew he could do. The resulting fisticuffs were over with two decisive blows from Captain America. It wasn't until he was hunched over, panting, trying to catch his breath that he remembered the original danger.

He spared Searchlight a glance to make sure the wolf knew to temper his fangs and claws, to subdue not to kill, before making a break for the kitchen and the fire extinguisher within. Relief fought back the rising nerves as he wrapped his fingers around the red canister, burst through the door and emptied the contents. The flames cried out as they were smothered by the white foam, dying, fading into the night until there was nothing but smouldering ash where the shed had been.

Rogers rubbed the sweat off his brow, the forgotten empty canister hitting the ground with a clang that rang through the darkness. Searchlight crept forward, licking the back of the blonde's hand until the warm familiar fingers curled up behind his ears to begin scratching. Steve glanced around for any sign of his uninvited destructive guests, but like super villain henchmen, they had fled the scene. He hoped that would be the end of it, that they learned their lesson, would find something or someone new to direct their hate at, but Steve had hoped for many things in his life and been disappointed more often than not.

Eyeing the smoking remains of the shed, he mumbled, "Stark's going to kill me.

* * *

The symphony of the birds started as the first rays of light kissed the mountain tops. The quiet and serene woodlands didn't last long, the sound of crushed gravel forewarned the arrival of someone coming down the road.

Rogers' eyes snapped open as he debate grabbing the shot gun he had tucked away, before going out to meet the poachers once again. Searchlight stood guard at the window, ridged and still. Pulling the curtain further back, Steve caught a sliver of the driveway and the vehicle racing up to the cabin. "Shit."

He grabbed his shirt off of the bed post, hastily throwing it on as he stumbled down the stairs. His hand twisted the door knob but stopped just shy of reefing the door open. Turning to Searchlight who was perched on the top stair ready to spring into action he ordered in a firm yet gentle voice, "Stay here."

The wolf cocked his head to the side with a whimper of protest but did as instructed. The second Steve slinked out the door, the creature dashed down the stairs, gluing his snout to the living room window, never taking his eyes off the man that dared to save him from the trap.

Steve sucked in a shaky breath and squared his shoulders before marching over to meet the vehicle with a confidence he did not feel.

"Rogers, you done getting your commune with nature on?" quipped Stark as he climbed out of the driver's seat.

Steve forced a smile that didn't reached his eyes but even that vanished as he watched Thor pry himself from the passenger's side to help Clint out of the back seat; the archer glaring as the thunder god handed him a set of crutches. Barton begrudgingly took them, not having the strength to withstand Thor's insistence. It was extremely underhanded of Fury to relay medical instructions to Thor about Clint's recovery but it was proving to be highly effective at keeping the smaller man from disobeying them. What Thor couldn't enforce through sheer force, his highly effective puppy dog eyes that surfaced at the thought of failing to make sure Clint followed the rules, twisted the archer's gut enough to force him to capitulate.

Rogers' and Barton's eyes locked through all the commotion of Stark and Thor trying to organize luggage. Clint swallowed hard. He had been nervous about facing Steve, uncertain where he stood with the team leader. Amongst the many failures he remembered from the past mission, equally clear was the lengths Steve had gone to on his behalf. When he couldn't continue, Steve had carried him. When the enemy had threatened to leave him to his fate, Rogers had championed for him. When he fell down the trench, Steve had risked his own safety to come after him. Clint had only complicated matters, and forced Captain America to have to choose between saving the weak link or the team. The last thing he wanted was to mess up the man's retreat but when Tony got an idea in his head, there was little anyone could do to sway him. So the archer had been stuffed in an uncomfortably small back seat of an overly flashy car and taken to spend a week with the one person he vowed to never fail, in honour of Phil, and yet had let down so completely.

Clint painfully made his way to the porch, one careful hop at a time. The crutches were uncomfortable, digging into his armpits and dramatizing his condition to the extreme. The large black knee brace and a cane would be more than enough but medical had insisted on the crutches and damn Thor, but the man wouldn't let Barton lose the crutches anywhere. He'd tried to ditch them on numerous occasions, even contemplating chucking them off the roof of the tower but like some damn golden retriever, the god brought them back.

Steve watched as Clint made his way over. The urge to crawl on the ground and beg his forgiveness was clawing at his skin. By some merciful god, Barton had survived, others, Bucky, had not been so lucky. Rogers had an ability to keep the helpless safe, save the world, but he couldn't apply that track record to his friends, to the people that mattered most. They always suffered, one way or another.

Stark grabbed one of his bags and the bow case he smuggled into the trunk for Clint behind Thor's back. Both bags hit the porch as he caught sight of the debris that use to be the shed. "I leave you alone for five days and you burn the place to the ground? You're why we can't have nice things Steve," scolded Tony in an irritated yet couldn't care less manner.

"I can explain that," promised the Captain. As he fumbled for the words he failed to stop Stark from opening the door.

Stark yanked his hand back, slamming the door shut as a set of very large teeth and claws burst forth from within. "Fuck! What the hell is that?" gasped the billionaire, adrenaline and shock pouring through him. "Is that a wolf? Is there a wolf in there? Why the fuck is there a man eating wolf in my cabin?"

"What the hell is that?" managed Barton, fumbling to get his crutches out of the way in case he needed to spring into action. Thor remained silent, simply gripping Mjölnir tightly while attempting to peer through the window to ascertain a better view of the monster dwelling inside.

"I can explain that too," injected Rogers. The confusion of his teammate's faces were tempered with worry and he had to admit it all seemed so logical the night before but from an outside perspective it must look a little crazy.

"Is this some twisted Little Red Riding Hood fetish you got going on Cap, cause I'm _not_ ok with this," snapped Tony.

Thor pushed the door open slightly to get a better look at their foe. He eyed the beast with familiarity. "Fenrir?"

"He knows a wolf?" stammered Stark.

"Thor," hissed the wolf curling his lips to bare his teeth.

The three human Avengers stood with their mouths gaping while Thor seemed completely unfazed by the new development. Tony found his voice first. "Of course he knows a wolf, because it's a talking wolf!"

"He can talk?" managed Steve, suddenly feeling like his legs wouldn't hold him up. Turning to Searchlight he repeated, voice tinted with hurt and betrayal, "You can talk?"

"You're shaking up with a wolf and you missed the fact that it can talk! That's pretty big, don't you think? Way to be on your game Rogers!" hissed Stark.

"Of course he can talk. This is no ordinary wolf," explained Thor with a calmness the other's envied. "This is Loki's son Fenrir, though I know not what he's doing here."

"Loki's son!" spat Clint. It took a mere second but the archer had his bow free of its case and an arrow notched. With a steady hand he levelled it at the massive black beast ready to release not only the arrow but a piece of his hatred for the man that taken so much from him. He may not have been allowed to put an arrow in Loki's eye, but he would settle for inflicting a small measure of his pain on something of the Trickster's.

"Loki's..."choked Steve. His hand batted the air until it final rested on Barton's drawing arm. He could feel the tension that rivalled the taut bowstring within the other man. "P-put it down," whispered Rogers.

Clint didn't move. Everyone, the wolf included waited with bated breath for the archer's submission or release.

"I said put it down," repeated Steve, the words hollow even to his own ears. He understood Barton's position, his own betrayal at the identity of his companion burning him from within but they needed answers and vengeance for past wrongs by another wouldn't get it for them.

"You heard what Thor said Cap," replied the archer with a coldness that only existed when the sniper mentality phased out the archer's heart to keep the killing from tainting it.

Thor's lack of interference should have spoke volumes as to the Captain's course of action but he couldn't shake the image of the mangy creature, the blood soaked fur and the eyes that pleaded for mercy, he had found in the woods a few days ago. "I know, but I said put it down."

The sting of betrayal flashed across Clint's eyes and though it pained him to lower the bow, an order had been given. His need to be an Avenger, trumped any sort of self-satisfaction he would gain from the peace the arrow could bring. He had already screwed up so badly, he didn't need yet another thing to sway Rogers towards removing him from the Avengers equation. Clint lowered his bow and just as quickly as it appeared, he had it tucked safely back in its case.

Clint would obey the order but he didn't have to stick around. He left the porch in a huff, storming off aimlessly into the woods, leaving them to sort out whatever new mess had fallen in their lap.


	6. Chapter 6

The absences of the deadly weapon pointed at the strange beast in the Avenger's company didn't eliminate the tension in the air with Barton walking away. It was thick and suffocating, like a collar chaining them to a situation all wanted to avoid. Steve felt a wave of uncertainty nipping at his heels; Thor and Clint's reactions were both the same, hostile with a cold chill but it was Stark's sudden silence that made the Captain question what avenue he should pursue.

Fenrir, a tightly coiled fur covered spring since laying eyes on Thor, growled, "You're not taking me back Thor!"

The thunder god could only frown before the wolf launched himself across the threshold of the cabin, a mass of teeth and claws tearing at the Asgardian. They both fell to the ground, a tangle of blond hair and black fur, each fighting to gain the top position in the impressive dust up.

Like kids in a schoolyard, Stark and Rogers crowded around watching, waiting to see who would be victorious. Steve knew he should act, the madness had to stop, but which side was he on and more importantly what was the rift between the two? As the leader of the Avengers he had a duty to stand by his people; as a hero he was bound to put the world first. The latter hadn't proved all that good for his conscience being placed in situations like the Arctic where Barton had almost become what Bucky forever would be: a testament to the horrors of failing to protect his people. Yet, Searchlight had been a constant source of company the last few days, a kindred lost soul who seemed to understand Steve, who had earned his protection, but Searchlight didn't exist. Fenrir was an unknown, something connected to a man that had brought destruction and death to Earth and the only thing Rogers knew for sure was he was a liar.

The only thing Captain America could safely decide was it had to stop. Taking a deep breath to fortify his courage he stepped forward and placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. "That's enough."

Thor paid him no attention, shrugging off both the hand and the command to continue trying to force Fenrir to submit. Stark, however, did respond to Steve's sudden intrusion into the battle. "This clearly has nothing to do with us, just let Thor settle it Rogers."

"Searchli... Fenrir stop it!" tried Rogers receiving the same fruitless results. He let out a frustrated growl of his own. Clearly he was going to have to force the two to stop, then try to piece together what was happening. Relying on his enhanced strength, the Captain grabbed the god's bicep, holding back the punch heading for Fenrir's midsection. Throwing himself in front of Thor, he managed to block the wolf from taking advantage of the brief pause. Irritated at the interference, the giant blond dropped his hammer to bring a huge fist up to meet Captain America, knocking the meddlesome mortal out of the way.

Tony rolled his eyes from the sidelines. "Well this is all eerily familiar," he snorted, moving out of the way before the giant ball of fists and claws sucked him into the fray. It wasn't that he hadn't found himself in his fair share of bar room brawls, though really Happy mostly dealt with those, but he didn't really stand a chance against an angry god and rabid wolf without his suit. He could already tell the tale of tangling with Thor and living to tell about it. Besides, Thor looked like he had things mostly under control and if Steve was stupid enough to be the third guy in a hockey fight, than Tony would enjoy watching him get some sense knocked into him.

Steve moved quickly slamming into Thor, knocking him off of Fenrir to tumble in the dirt. "I said that's enough!"

Fenrir scrambled to his feet and glared daggers at his uncle from around Rogers while Thor picked himself up, brushing off the dirt with all the dignity of a prince of Asgard he could muster. "This concerns you not. It is an Asgardian matter. Our justice is our own and needs not the consent of mortals that are too concerned with their own petty squabbles," snapped Thor.

"And just what has he done?" questioned Steve, neither backing down nor moving from between the two fighters who were ready to spring into action once more.

Thor wiped the trail of blood creeping down his cheek and looked at it with distain. "Fenrir is prophesized to kill the Allfather," he stated, words dripping with hate and contempt for the creature before them. Apparently betrayal ran in Loki's bloodline.

"Prophesized? You mean he hasn't actually done anything yet?" asked Steve. He had lived his life subscribing to the belief that one was innocent until proven guilty and his teammates's statement sent chills down his spine.

"It was foretold, therefore Odin took action. Such is the prerogative of our king," informed the thunder god. Turning to Fenrir he demanded, "By what treachery or magic have you come to free yourself of Gleipnir?"

The wolf's lips curled with hate at the very mention of Gleipnir, memories of his torment ripping open freshly healed wounds and poking at those too deep to ever heal. "I don't know who I have to thank from freeing me from the _merciful Allfather's_ vengeance," he hissed with hate and sarcasm so thick it hung in the air long after the words had faded to mere memories, "but I'm going to reward them handsomely from the throne of Asgard after I show Odin exactly what he should fear."

Thor's nostrils flared adding disgust to an already hate filled face. His hand on Mjölnir tightened, turning his knuckles white but he didn't dare unleash the might of his hammer with Rogers still boldly standing between him and the potential betrayer. Like Loki, Thor had hoped that the wayward family member would see the error of his ways and return singing the praises of the ruler of Asgard. He had hoped to welcome Fenrir back with a warm embrace after punishment was served but like with his father that hope seemed to be crushed.

"You're responsible for the shape he was in when I found him," gasped Rogers. His voice trembled slightly as he thought about all the wounds inflicted upon the wolf that the trap couldn't have been responsible for and he had to fight back the urge to be sick. He couldn't imagine what someone would have to do for him to inflict that kind of damage upon another being but to do it to someone because they might do something... Steve had thought Asgard better than that. Well that wasn't true, it was exactly something he would expect from Loki, he had thought Thor was better than that but he seemed very set on reinforcing the sentence passed.

"Both of you just stop!" shouted Steve raising both hands to further the distance between the two feuding parties. His scowl matched both of theirs but his anger was directed at the billionaire who was casually leaning against the porch post watching the proceedings with what appeared to be forced interest. Clearly, Stark was going to be no help in resolving the situation. "We're not going to get to the bottom of anything with you two at each other's throats, now stand down."

Neither party relaxed. Turning to Thor, Steve ordered through gritted teeth, "Stand down Thor!"

Huffing, the giant blond lowered his hammer to his side and took a step back, though his glare never wavered from Fenrir. The wolf stood up from his crouch, giving up the advantage of being prepared to pounce upon his adversary as a sign of good faith to the mortal who had shown a shred of kindness.

"Go back inside, Searchlight." Rogers emphasized the command by pointing to the open door.

"This isn't over," sneered Fenrir before turning to make his way up the stairs to the cabin door.

"Agreed, we are not finished here," acknowledge Thor. He glanced briefly at his teammates, men, though brave, true warriors, that could not hope to stand in his way should he want to push the issue. These were the faces of his brothers in battle and he could not bring himself to cause strife between them by disobeying Rogers' order. He would make them see reason and then they would have little objection to him reinforcing Odin's decree. For now, he would walk away and keep the peace; there was nowhere on this planet that Fenrir could escape Thor's justice. Misgard justice was different from his own, but he would let them proceed with their ways so they could see Fenrir for what he was: a threat to the peaceful future of the nine realms.

Steve let out a long sigh as he watched Thor disappear in the same direction Barton had wandered earlier and Fenrir vanish, undoubtedly upstairs, in the cabin. The tension was fading but it left him colder than the wind that was brave enough to start howling through the clearing. "I can't believe that Searchlight's an Asgardian," the Captain muttered, his brain still trying to catch up to a situation that spiraled wildly out of control.

"Well talking wolf isn't exactly a breed found here in North America _Rogers_," snarked Stark, shooting his teammate his patented 'I'm smarter than all of you combined' look.

"Thanks for all your help, by the way," clipped Steve, his frustration raising the volume and force of his words as the man stormed by the inventor.

"Hey, I was on Thor's side," Tony called out to Steve as he passed by him and into the cabin. It didn't bother him that the blond to be irritated at him, especially since most of the time it was by Tony's own design. He turned to look over the space previously occupied by his team. His eyes eventually settled on what use to be the shed. He mumbled, exacerbation evident, "Unbelievable. How am I supposed to explain this one to Pepper?"


	7. Chapter 7

Steve slumped against the closed door of the cabin, shutting out his team and the world. Things had been going so well, so peaceful in comparison to the usual standard the Avengers lived with. It had all gone to hell in a second on the back of a name hissed in recognition.

Rogers glanced up when he felt eyes on him. His gaze locked with the wolf, who was hovering at the top of the stairs. A million emotions ran over Steve's face: betrayal, disappointment, anger, self-doubt and knowing now that the wolf was almost human, he knew he could see the same things reflected back at him.

Pushing himself away from the door, the blond squared his shoulders and spat, "You've got two minutes to explain why I shouldn't tell Thor to come back here and drag you back to wherever it is you came from."

Fenrir cocked his head to the side as if he could see into Steve soul and learn the truth of the words. "I'm innocent," started Fenrir.

Steve felt his hands coil into tight fists as he rolled his eyes. Didn't the bad guys usually start by proclaiming their innocence? He turned and headed into the living room, the soft padding sound of the wolf's paws scurrying down the stairs in the background.

"You know, I sat there silently listening to you go on about your problems with your friends," protested Fenrir like an offended teenager.

"You had to be silent or else you would have given away the fact that you're not an ordinary wolf. Then you'd have to explain you're an Asgardian and worse yet, you're Loki's son. It's a lie, a lie by omission to save yourself but a lie none the less," argued Steve. He flopped down on the couch, angry and betrayed yet something in him felt comfortable enough to lower his guard slightly.

"What's father done now?" asked the wolf, curiosity tempering his furry at the sudden hostility facing him.

The question caught Steve off guard. Loki had been a major moment in history and according to Thor the repercussions of that battle and their subsequent dealings had far reaching effects in the universe. "We kind of take world domination and alien armies rather personally around here," snapped the blond. To shrug off Loki like some tantrum throwing child, even if that's what he was, was insulting; the devastation and death he brought deserved some respect no matter what side of the battle you aligned with.

"That does sound like him," sighed Fenrir, "but I couldn't possibly know what he's be schemeing of late."

"You didn't know that your father had returned with an army to claim a planet that your uncle..." Fenrir curled his lips letting out a low growl at the mention of Thor but Steve continued on as though the interruption never happened. Clearly there was no love loss within the house of Odin. "...Had laid claim of protector to?"

"The house of Odin." The words were spat with more distain than Rogers had ever heard for anything, Nazi's included. "Let me tell you what the house of Odin thought fit to do to me. Whispers spread through those hallow halls that someone was planning to betray the Allfather. Odin chose to seek the council of a powerful sorceress to try and learn the identity of his future betrayer. The sorceress claimed that I would kill Odin, feasting on his bones and hailing the call for Ragnarok. So what did your merciful Thor and company do? They made me a prisoner, tied me down and when I protested, I had a giant sword placed between my jaws so I couldn't defend myself and there they left me for centuries. No one asked me if it was true; I was condemned on a word of a sorceress. So forgive me if I wasn't able to keep up on current events with my family," snarled Fenrir.

"For centuries?" whispered Steve, unsure he heard the statement correctly. He knew Thor was old, but how could anyone condemn another being without a trail for that long, let alone a family member.

"Centuries!" the wolf emphasized, his hatred coming through loud and clear.

That didn't sound like the Thor Steve had come to know. The Asgardian seemed to seek out justice and honor but if what Fenrir was claiming was true, and the state he found the creature supported its story, then there must be a missing piece to the puzzle forming. Steve felt like a dog chasing its tail trying to find the truth between two vague stories. He needed more information from Thor than what the thunder god had said earlier but his head was spinning.

"Thor wants to take me back. What do you plan to do?" the wolf asked, curiosity and tentative trust coloring his features.

"Just," Rogers raised his hand to stop Fenrir from interrupting, "stay in my bedroom and away from the team. I need time to think. We can decide what's going to happen tomorrow." With that, Captain America made the exhausting climb upstairs to an unoccupied bedroom and locked himself away, seeking silence to calm his racing mind. He had meant to give the subject some serious thought but once he collapsed on the bed he retreated into a deep slumber leaving the chaos behind for awhile.

* * *

The resounding thud of the bedroom door as it bounced off the wall woke Rogers with a start. His head snapped up to see a tightly wound and pissed off Stark glaring down at him. He blinked a few times to get the alarm clock display into focus, letting out a sigh he dropped his head back onto the pillow, unable to believe he had been woken at such an early hour. The Captain had to do a double take at the clock; Tony Stark didn't do mornings and he sure as hell didn't do seven am.

"What do you want Tony?" mumbled Steve through his pillow. He had crashed hard after the events of yesterday but even a solid night's sleep couldn't wipe the irritation from his voice.

"I don't know what the hell is going on between you and Barton, but if you broke our archer..." scolded the billionaire, his arms crossed to emphasize his disdain for the situation.

Steve scoured his mind frantically trying to follow what the other man was talking about. A deep sinking feeling filled his guts as he realized the team must have figured out the grisly events that unfolded during the arctic fiasco. It was almost a relief that it would all finally be out in the open, that they would all know the truth. Frankly he was surprised that Natasha hadn't told them when Clint had failed to shout Rogers failures to the world, but both assassins had seemed to be mum on the issue, leaving the Captain to fester in his own guilt. Perhaps that was a worse punishment than anything they could come up with. "Barton?" he slurred, trying to shake the sleep from his head and attack the problem with crystal clarity.

"Yes Barton!" spat Tony, "how many archers do you know?"

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face and swung his legs over the side of the bed. If he was going to face the firing squad, he wasn't going to do it lying down.

"In case you were wondering," started Tony with his usual snugness of being constantly right, "he didn't come back last night. Neither did Thor, but I didn't expect him to."

Fear flashed through the blond bursting like fireworks across his skin as a hundred worse case scenarios bombarded his mind. "Barton didn't come back?" he asked, his voice echoing the tremble that ran through him. He knew the man was pissed but common sense should have brought him back to a warm bed and roof over his head rather than cooling his heels god knows where. The poachers were still out there. They had been undeterred or unaware that they had picked a fight with Captain America; Steve severely doubted they would hesitate to go after Clint even if they knew he was an Avenger. Hawkeye had demonstrated that he could hold his own against impossible odds, but the man still wasn't at a hundred percent from last time, the hated crutches and obvious knee brace made sure to remind everyone of that fact.

The leader of the Avengers was a flurry of motion as he scrambled to pull a shirt on and grab his boots. Odd were the archer was fine, having snuck back into the cabin after everyone had gone to bed or called Natasha and was currently sitting back at Stark Tower but that little voice of doubt was whispering in Steve's ear. What if something happened and he needed help, but Steve didn't check it out?

"You're sure he's not back?" Hope colored his voice as he paused for Stark's answer.

"I'm not a child Steven, of course I looked before I busted in here. Besides, _I_ stayed up all night waiting for the team to return."

That answered the question as to why the billionaire was up so early. Steve would file away the personal condemnation from the man for a later; hopefully there would be a later for him to kick himself for letting Barton slipping through the cracks again. He barely had his boots tied before he pushed past Stark, taking the stairs three at a time.

"Fix this Rogers!" shouted Tony before the front door slammed shut behind Steve.

The blond took off at a jog following the trail he had seen Clint storm off down yesterday. With any luck, he would be able to pick up his teammate's trail but he had no delusions that if the master assassin didn't want to be found, it wouldn't matter how hard Steve looked, he would come up empty.

Everyone wanted Captain America to fix their problems but they all seemed to have every critique in the world on how he did it. Fury wanted him to be a hero but didn't like the fact that Steve felt more comfortable taking a low key existence between missions. The team wanted a leader but didn't like the calls he made. His so called fans wanted him to be a perfect representation of justice and truth but when he tried to put the world first, he lost people he cared about, he lost what mattered to him and all in the name of the greater good. He wanted to curl up and shut the world out, let everyone else deal with the problems of the world but his conversation with Peggy about why he wanted to be a part of the project echoed in his head. No matter what, he owed it to the people who mattered to try, despite the consequences.

The forest turned into a blur of green as he pushed himself faster, twisting and turning around the landscape, going deeper and deeper into the brush. The sharp and decisive, "Stop," grabbed his ears causing Steve to come to an abrupt stop, almost tumbling over his own feet. With strained ears he intently listened for another cry, desperately trying to slow his breathing and calm the pounding in his chest. The forest was hauntingly silent as he waited.

"Stop!"

It was unmistakably Clint's voice, but the one word wasn't enough to pinpoint the direction it was coming from.

"Don't do it," Barton warned from somewhere in the brush.

Rogers frantically took off in the direction it sounded like it was coming from. The trees were thick and the rocky hills and cliffs could have been misdirecting the sound. Images of the poachers inflicting pain upon his teammate in some desperate attempt to satisfy their ego and seek revenge through collateral means raced through his mind. The bushes and branches snapped at Rogers' arms and legs as he pushed forward.

The blonde's fear was building, the only thing he could see were more trees and forest floor but no sign of his distressed teammate. A sharp snap pulled Steve's focus over to the left, followed by a series of crackles. Subtle wisps of smoke were weaving their fingers through the trees; whoever had Barton had a fire going. Like a homing beacon, Steve followed the smoke back to the fire and hopefully a minimally injured Hawkeye.


	8. Chapter 8

"Stop," protested Barton as he watched the flames lick hungrily towards the sky. The other man offered him a crooked smile and proceeded at his own accord. The fire embraced the offering trying desperately to pull it further into its grasp and set it ablaze, the stick absorbing the red hot heat.

"Don't do it," warned the archer trying to lean further back and away from the potential fire ball.

Thor let out small chuckle. "Relax my friend, I have mastered this art of the s'more as per Stark's instruction."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

The god's shoulders shook as he let out a deep laugh. "Fear not, we will feast soon."

Clint looked at his friend wearily, the marshmallow stick getting ever neared to the coals in the small campfire they were sitting around. "The point is to toast the marshmallow not burn it to a crisp, not to mention the potential for a molten ball of flaming goo." Having an impromptu camp out with an alien wasn't something Barton had ever considered let alone as a means to blow off some steam but a night venting around a campfire had been just what he needed. Listening to Thor's many tales of glorious battles was always a good way to relax; the man could spin a tale. The thunder god had gone back for some supplies during the night when it became apparent that neither felt like they could go back to the cabin and Clint suspected that the bottles of top shelf booze Thor had thought to liberate from Tony's stash helped to make the night more therapeutic rather than the actual experience itself.

Barton was in the middle of skewering his own marshmallow for roasting when a figure exploded out from the bushes, rolled and came to a stop in a crouched position ready to spring into action.

"You working on your entrance skills there Cap or is something up?" asked Clint nonchalantly without bothering to look up from the treat he was toasting.

Steve's chest heaved and his eyes darted around the small clearing looking for signs of danger to justify the effort he just exuded. He frowned as he stared at his teammates sitting on a log looking like they didn't have a care in the world and Rogers had just busted up some male bonding activity. His relief was short lived as frustration and anger started to raise issues with his teammates' choices. "You didn't come back last night," he snapped.

"So you came to fight fun because I missed curfew? Sorry, didn't realize I had to get my babysitter's permission to have a sleepover," muttered Clint with an insubordination reminiscent of Stark.

It was happening again, all the good intentions Rogers had come with gave way to irritation. It was like working with children some days, which he would expect out of Stark but Barton was part of a military organization; really the man should know better or at least have a bit more respect for the chain of command. More importantly a little respect for the fact that his friends were worried about him would go a long way to easing Steve's frustrations. "Well maybe if we acted like adults."

The words hung in the air. Clint gaped like he had been physically punched while Thor flinched like the earth beneath him had shook. Steve closed his eyes, wishing he could disappear along with the words.

"We are not engaged in battle at present, are we still prohibited from doing as we wish?" asked Thor, his tone aiming for diplomacy as to hide his disagreement with Steve's statement as only the Asgardian could.

"That's not... yes you can do what you want but... Barton your injured," tried the Captain, though the words seemed horrifically inadequate compared to the sentiment behind them. Rogers tried not to flinch when Clint's shoulders slumped and the man suddenly lost the ability to make eye contact at the mention of his injury. A phantom pain shot up Steve's leg, the wound inflicted by the trap no more than puffy red skin as opposed to the carnage that had been there days ago. He remembered what it was like to be breakable; the constant desire to do more than physical limitation would allow but the heart to back up the desire. Barton was capable but while other members of the team could take a beating and brush it off, the archer felt it for days.

Rogers tried again, "It's just, what if something happened? You're not at a hundred percent; someone could get lucky and when you didn't come back... I was worried." It seemed like he was trying a lot lately but success wasn't as frequent.

Something snapped in Clint. He had been playing by the rules the best he could in a desperate attempt to prove he could measure up, but his efforts seemed to fall short. Slipping back into his comfort zone of brash sarcasm, he offered snidely, "Yeah no, absolutely, too weak to take care of myself, got it. You should keep an eye on your burden make sure I don't need saving all to the time. It must be exhausting Cap, sorry."

The Captain ran his hands through his hair using all of his strength to resist the urge to pull it out. It was like they spoke a different language and Steve whole heartedly regretted all the times he'd snapped at Bucky when the man had just wanted to look out for him and Steve had greeted that effort with disapproval.

"Thor," Rogers began, avoiding digging himself any deeper with Barton, "tell me what happened with Fenrir."

The god sat stiffly but spoke without tension. "He was prophesised to kill Odin, a catalyst to an apocalyptic battle in which the fate of the nine realms would be decided. Not wishing to risk such bloodshed, Odin in his wisdom, sent Fenrir away to prevent such events. The fact that he was Loki's son garnished him the mercy of imprisonment rather than execution. Anything that happened during his imprisonment is of his own doing; Fenrir chose to be... difficult."

"Based on the word of a witch you condemned him before he had done anything?" Butterflies of discomfort fluttered deep in Rogers' gut. These were not just actions yet the Asgardians were allies.

"Based on the Allfather's word," corrected Thor. Clearly the blond misgardian was having trouble grasping the concept. "It was not a risk he deemed worthy to take. In light of things I still stand by his decision."

"I'm not sure I can," replied Steve, biting his lip as he pondered a course of action. Did he really have any ground to stand on in this situation?

"I must return Fenrir to his prison. He is a danger and I fear he has more traits in common with Loki than I first realized. He has managed to manipulate you into feeling remorse for him. I assure you ours is the right course of action. Someone that dangerous cannot be allowed to be free," declared Thor. His voice was soft as though speaking to a child but the order was not lost in the gentleness of his words.

"I can't let you do that." Captain America crossed his arms shielding himself from any argument Thor might return.

"Don't really have a lot of choice in the matter Cap," interjected Barton, rolling his marshmallow stick in his hand; the sugary lump had long since turned hard and black, "SHIELD has diplomatic relations with Asgard and if they want to extradite your pet, SHIELD will allow it." The words were uttered with a tone none ever heard except when Loki's name slithered off of Clint's lips.

"I don't care what SHIELD wants, I'm offering Fenrir my protection. I don't agree with with his sentence and believe there's another way to handle this. " If the others could hear the flicker of self doubt tinge Steve's sentence, they didn't pay it any attention. Hawkeye had raised an important point but willingly handling Fenrir over to such horrors just seemed wrong, even if he wasn't a hundred percent certain they were wrong about the wolf.

Thor cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "I do not wish to fight you over this brother."

Steve relaxed a fraction, the potential for blows disappearing behind a tentative truce on the subject. "Then don't. Talk to Odin. I'm sure you can come up with something different. He's suffered enough for something he hasn't done Thor, you have to see that."

Thor pursed lips together as if to consider it. "Loki's betrayal tore our family apart. It would be nice to make it as whole as possible once again. I will take this under consideration."

"That's all I can ask. Do you mind if I have a minute alone with Barton?"

The giant blond turned to his companion seeking Clint's permission while simultaneously encouraging him to take Steve's plea. Nodding to Rogers, Thor patted Hawkeye on the shoulder in a demonstration of camaraderie before hefting himself off of the log and heading back to the cabin. It had been no secret amongst the other Avengers that things had been tense between Captain America and the archer since they had been rescued from the Hydra base, though the cause seemed to allude the team.

Both Avengers were silent until Thor's massive form disappeared behind a wall of brush. The Captain kept his eyes glued to his boots suddenly not sure what he was going to say to fix things but compelled to try and find away despite the fact that all previous efforts had blown up in both of their faces. Simultaneously Clint diligently worked at picking at a strip of bark hanging from his stick.

"You going to sit down Cap or do you feel more comfortable dressing down a subordinate when you're standing above them?" shot the archer without lifting his eyes to meet Steve's.

Rogers flopped himself down on the log next to Barton, suddenly more exhausted than he had been in awhile. "I don't know how to fix this thing that's come between us," confessed Steve, looking more lost and haggard by the second. "It's my job to keep you guys safe, to make sure our missions are a success and it just seems that lately I'm failing on the personal front, that you guys aren't getting what you need."

Clint let out a long breath. There was something disturbing about seeing Coulson's hero look so dejected when really he was living up to everything Phil had promised he would be. It made Barton's failures hurt all the more. He had let his handler down and now he was further disappointing the man by letting Phil's idol down. Even worse, Clint had bought into the myth Coulson had spun and hadn't been disappointed when he was able to meet the legend in the flesh, yet here he was failing to measure up for Captain America.

"Trust me, it's not you," muttered the archer.

"When everyone seems to have the same attitude towards you? Believe me, it's me. You all fit in here and I still haven't found my niche yet. Most of the time I barely feel like I'm keeping my head above water. Hell, none of you agree on the call I just made," rambled Steve.

Clint raised his head, suddenly uncomfortable seeing an exposed and vulnerable Steve. "You're a lot to live up to. Thor's likes everyone for the record. Bruce always gets touchy when it comes to the big guy. Natasha doesn't trust anyone, so don't take that personally and Stark spent his childhood trying to get out of your shadow. There our issues Cap, it's not that we don't trust your judgement, our issues prevent us from offering our opinions like civilized people sometimes."

The blond snorted in disbelief. "What about you?"

"_What about me_," repeated Clint, swallowing hard to try and get the nerve to divulge some inner truth. He'd spent a life time pushing everyone away to keep himself from getting hurt; it went against every hard earned survival instinct to start sharing now. He could count the people he trusted on one hand and out of those only two hadn't betrayed him. To count Captain America in that group meant using a second hand and that was as scary as it was tempting.

The archer got a really distant look in his eye, wrapping his arms a little tighter around himself. "Every time I felt safe in my life it was the calm before a shit storm of hurt. If I get complacent with my place on this team, I'm going to find myself out on my ass, alone again and I don't think I can start over. I know I don't have it in me to start over again. And all I see is reason after reason for you to find someone else, someone that's not going to be someone's puppet, or try and kill the team, piss off our handlers or force you to live with the fact that you couldn't save the day _and_ my sorry ass."

Part of Steve ached for the man sitting next to him. A world class assassin with a cold exterior was just a shell to protect something small and vulnerable underneath and shamefully Rogers had fallen for it, never considering the thick blanket of insecurities that smothered the archer from a life time of being beaten and let down. "I'm not going to leave you out in the cold."

A weak smile, as though he really didn't believe the sentiment, turned Barton's lips. "At least you care Cap. There're more handlers at SHIELD that would just as soon order you to your death to reach and object, than ones that care if their assets survive to see another day. With you, I know there's no other choice, that you've considered every option and that my death won't be over something stupid like political gain or promotion but something worth wild, something worth dying for. I do trust you with my life."

"I trust your opinions and want to hear them, but I need this team to understand that at the end of the day I make the final call. So what's you honest opinion about this situation?"

"Fenrir can't be trusted," stated Clint without hesitation, looking Steve directly in the first time since the conversation started.

"Why?"

"The apple doesn't fall from the tree. Thor gives everyone a fair shake but not this guy, couple that with the fact that he's Loki's son and betrayal's practically tattooed on his forehead."

"I'll take that into consideration," offered the soldier as he moved to help Barton get to his feet. Putting out the fire the pair made their slow journey back to the cabin unaware of the shadowy figure lurking behind them.


	9. Chapter 9

The relative calm of the walk back to the cabin came crashing down as Stark caught sight of Barton and Rogers making their way up the trail. The billionaire paced across the porch, his frustration with the current situation growing with each passing second. When the wayward pair were close enough he pointed at the cabin and shouted, ""That thing better be house broken Rogers!"

There was a giant wolf standing between Tony and his coffee and Steve had forgotten to tie his pet up before he ran out to track down Barton. Seeing that the Archer was in the same condition as last time he saw him, caffeine deprivation had moved to the top of Tony's list.

The blond let out a frustrated sigh as he helped Clint settle on the porch step. The walk was far more strenuous without adrenaline pushing the archer forward, and god help him, the hated crutches would have been a blessing about a mile back. Steve gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before Clint gave him his 'I'll be okay' nod.

Once Barton was settled, Steve stomped up the last step and rounded on Tony. Stark backed up until he was pinned against the wall with Rogers standing boldly before him, but to the inventor's credit, he refused to back down. They glared at each other for a moment, looking as though they were going to start hissing and spitting at one another like a pair of miniature dogs. Hawkeye would have found it mildly hilarious if he could be certain that they would remember the argument shouldn't come to blows.

"When's Thor taking his pet home?" growled Tony.

"Thor's going to leave him alone until all the facts and options are discussed. That's my final word on the matter. That means you're going to leave him alone too, Stark," replied the blond with equal ferocity.

"I know the fan girls get all hot and bothered when you get all large and in charge and put on your big boy spangly spandex, but way to back your team Rogers!" Personal feelings aside, Captain America was the embodiment of most things that irritated Tony. The one that seemed to push Iron Man's buttons the most was Rogers' continuous choice to be Fury's errand boy and choosing to play the good little soldier instead of getting on board with the whole Avengers against the world theme that the others had seemed to come to learn.

Neither looked back at Barton, who sifted into a position more conducive to jumping in between his two team members, should things come to blows between them. Stark's back hit the wall as Steve poked him with his finger to emphasize each of his words. "You're right, I am in charge, which means you listen to me. Showing mercy is a sign of good faith to Asgard, whether they know it or not. Unlike you, I actually got to know Fenrir and am fairly certain he had no plans to start a war. More importantly, we're supposed to be better than them. If we cast judgment before crime or without evidence than we're just like everyone else and we have no right to don these uniforms that have become a symbol of hope and justice. Sometimes you have to be bigger than your petty crap Stark."

After a tense second, Steve stomped into the cabin letting the door slam shut in his wake.

"Hitler was an art student no one thought would try and take over the world!" shouted Stark in Captain America's wake. He wasn't enthusiastic about what just happened or the choice Steve was making but he had to respect that the man was sticking to his guns and his own personal sentiment rather than some SHIELD agenda. Turning to Clint he asked in a more normal voice, "You know this is going to blow up in all of our faces right?"

Hawkeye just shrugged and slid over on the step to make room for Tony to sit down. "Someone on the team has to be morally idealistic. He has the rest of his life to become morally tainted and jaded like the rest of us. We'll just have to watch his back."

"But who is going to watch your!" threatened a eerily familiar voice.

Before either man could move, a tremendous force, unrelenting like a brick wall pushed against them sending them flying in different directions. The sharp crack of boards snapping rang out as Barton hit the railing of the porch before tumbling into the rocky ground. Pain flared from his knee to the tip of every nerve in his body. A pain filled cry tore from Clint's throat as he blindly fumbled to wrap his hands around his injury in a desperate bid to relieve the unrelenting agony.

Stark's head shot up from at the sound of his friend's pain. Shaking his head helped to clear some of the fuzziness and dirt from hitting the path leading to the cabin. The impact with the ground had been jarring and his limbs were sluggish to find purchase to scramble to his knees. His hand automatically reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone. "This guy again. JARVIS, I'm going to need a suit." The words died on his lips as a thud pulled his attention away from Barton.

Standing over Stark with a crooked smile was Loki. The god's hand tightened on his staff, a small attempt at replacing the glory that had been his sceptre, as he slammed it into Tony's shoulder knocking the mortal back into the dirt. Raising it once again he slammed it back down but Stark managed to roll out of the way bringing his foot up to kick Loki. The god stumbled back a few steps as the human got to his feet and ran towards the vehicle parked in the drive way.

Tony darted as fast as he could towards the car, sparing a momentary glace at Hawkeye who was still writhing on the ground in pain. He hoped the agent hadn't done more damage to his knee. JARVIS remotely popped the trunk open allowing the Iron Man suit to assemble, waiting for its owner to don it against evil once more. The last bolt snapped into place just as a bolt of energy slammed into Stark knocking Iron Man back a step.

"It appears Loki has an energy weapon of considerable magnitude," informed JARVIS as his systems flashed back on line after the blast.

"Figured that, JARVIS. Give me something useful," ordered Tony, dodging another blast from Loki.

"Conducting scans now, sir."

Clint fought back the tears that stung his eyes, breathing deeply to try and calm some of the ache. Try as hard as he could, the offending limb would not bend but even trying to relax didn't seem to ease the pain. The whirling of bolts and repalsor blast signalled the battle starting and Barton racked his brain for a way to help his teammate.

The Cabin door flew open and Steve ran out, searching for the source of the commotion. Disbelief stunned him for a moment; of all the things he expected, it certainly wasn't Iron Man locked in battle with Loki. Hearing a sharp hiss of pain, his head snapped to the right. Clint was a tangle of limbs and broken boards, clearly in pain. They locked eyes, the archer shaking his head. "You have to help Stark," he grunted.

Rogers grabbed a piece of firewood from the stack next to the door and vaulted over the railing. In four quick steps he was behind Loki, slamming the log into his lower back. The god retaliated by twisting and swinging his staff at Steve, who leaned back, allowing the weapon to pass harmlessly over him. Simultaneously, Iron Man unleashed a blast of his own, causing Loki to stagger in its wake.

Fenrir had followed the blond down the stairs following the first rumble but upon seeing the green clad man in the yard, all four paws locked in place. He followed the battle with his eyes unable to cross the threshold of the door. It had been an incredibly long time since he had laid eyes on Loki, the father who had stood by and said nothing as Odin passed sentence. He burned with every emotion possible: hurt, fear, love, anger, hope. It had been no secret that Fenrir had been a youthful mistake by his father, Odin having gone to great lengths to not only keep his mother's identity a secret from all, but few even knew of his existence outside of the family until much later. Despite Loki's hands off approach to parenting, there was still some small part of Fenrir that needed his acceptance, his approval. At the end of the day it was his father and no matter what Loki did to him, directly or in directly, that would never change. Steve had been the first person to show him any sort of kindness without asking for anything in return but he could not help the man without raising a hand against Loki. So he watched from the safety of the cabin as the Avengers and Loki continued to fight, neither clearly wining.

Clint ran his hand frantically along the ground, searching for some sort of a weapon. Iron Man and Captain America were holding their own, but that wasn't good enough, they needed help. He needed to help, he needed a weapon, he needed his bow. The black case was nestled between the cabin wall and the bench resting on the porch, a simple enough concept except for the fact that he had to cover several feet to grab it.

Sucking in a deep breath, Clint pulled himself across the ground, using everything he had to ignore the hot searing pain in his knee. Sweat poured down his face and back as millimetre by millimetre he dragged closer to his goal. A brief glance back towards his team revealed that Loki was fairing much better than the last time they tangled. If the Captain's bleeding nose and the dents in the Iron Man armour was any indication, than Loki might prove victorious. Magic was a bitch.

Clint's finger tips brushed the hard plastic as his outstretched arm trembled with the effort. Biting hard against the inside of his cheek, he managed to get his bent leg underneath him enough to gain some leverage to pull himself up on the porch. Barton collapsed on the well worn wood, chest heaving and muscles shaking. His fingers switched to autopilot as they skilfully snapped open the locks on the case, assembling the bow with precision and speed.

Rogers put his hands down to break his fall. The odds may have been two against one but their opponent was not going to go down quietly. He was suddenly jerked into the air by a green glowing tentacle that Loki commanded like a whip. Letting out a grunt as his back slammed against a tree, Steve sagged slightly but the magical rope slithered and twisted around him, crushing him, forcing the air out of his lungs and binding him tightly.

Iron Man found himself in a similar situation, struggling uselessly against a magical bond that refused to budge. Loki grinned at both his captives; this moment had been a long time coming. Word had spread through all the realms that Fenrir had been freed from his prison. It was such a tantalising tale that even banished as he was, whispers had reached Loki. One traitorous deal after another Loki followed the rumours, tricked his way into the graces of one disposable allie to another, just to find out where his son had ended up.

It was quite the shock to discover Fenrir on Earth and worse yet in the hands of his sworn enemies. Loki would not stand for it and now he had the pesky mortals right where he wanted them. "Isn't this where you start threatening me?" asked Loki, fighting back a small chuckle. He raised his staff prepared to deliver a final blow towards Iron Man when a sharp piercing pain ripped through his shoulder.

Hissing he pulled the arrow from his shoulder, turning swiftly to find the archer crouched on the porch, bow in hand, a second arrow notched and ready. Loki stormed towards Hawkeye, twisting out of the path of the second arrow. He was upon the smaller man before he could notch a third arrow. His hand tightened around the human's neck and it was sweet. The feel of flesh bending to his might as his grip tightened, the air being forced out as he squeezed harder, desperate fingers clawing at his hand; it was more than he ever dared dream of when he planned his revenge against this mortal.

"Leave him alone Loki," commanded Steve, struggling just as fiercely as Iron Man to free himself from the god's rope.

Something sinister danced in Loki's eyes and had Clint the ability to turn away from it, he would have. His reprieve was short lived as the tickster's hand slipped from his throat to the back of his neck. The taste of blood filled his mouth as he bit down on his tongue to keep from giving Loki the satisfaction of hearing him cry out as he was dragged across the yard towards Steve.

"And why would I do that?" asked Loki, holding up Hawkeye when his knee refused to. "I owe this human so much, but be patient, your turn is coming."

"He follows my orders, I'm the leader. Anything you're going to do, you start with me," insisted Rogers with a determination that made his eyes shine like steel.

"If you insist on being the first to die," started Loki, tossing Barton to the side and raising his staff, "I can oblige you!"

The staff began to glow the same evil green as the ropes binding the two Avengers. Loki's intent clear, Fenrir sprung into action. The fate of the other two was inconsequential, but Steve, Steve had helped when no one else would. The wolf couldn't stand by and return the favour by letting Loki destroy him. He pounced at Loki from behind knocking both of them to the ground. The element of surprise in his corner, the pair tumbled through the dirt; Loki fumbling to figure out what was going on and Fenrir pulling his punches. The intent was to stop the trickster; Fenrir still didn't have it in him to do more to Loki.

The distraction was enough to divide the trickster's attention and weaken his magical hold on the team. The slithering ropes wilted, freeing Tony and Steve.

"Iron Man, get Hawkeye out of here," ordered Rogers moving towards the ball of fury fighting in the yard.

Nodding, Iron Man scooped Clint up as gently as possible, ever aware of the man's locked inflamed knee. "Come on Legolas, you've had enough excitement for today."

Before Iron Man could blast off, a crack of thunder roared following a streak of lightening across the sky. The blond Asgardian smashed down in front of Tony, casually stepping out of the dent left in his wake. "I heard the disturbance..." Thor trailed off as he caught a glimpse of Loki in a tangle with Fenrir. "Loki," he spat, gripping his hammer tighter.

After his second battle with the Avengers, Odin had stripped Loki of his power and banished him to parts unknown. While Thor agreed it was the best course of action, a part of him that still viewed Loki as his brother, family, and feared for him being powerless in a universe full of enemies. Clearly that small modicum of worry had been misplaced; he should have known better than to doubt Loki's underhandedness.

Fuelled by unquenchable fury, the thunder god dove into the thick of the battle. In moments he had Loki by the neck, pinned against a large oak tree. The trickster squirmed, trying to free himself but failed miserably under Thor's grasp. "You dare show your face here, brother!" snarled Thor.

"Someone had to protect Fenrir from the likes of you!"

Thor's nostrils flared as his eyebrows crossed. Without sympathy, he slammed Loki onto the ground and placed Mjölnir on top of him.

"Well, don't we all feel inadequate now," snarked Stark. Thor shot him a hard glare silencing the next witty remark that danced upon his tongue. "Two Asgardian fugitives, now what do we do?"


	10. Chapter 10

Clint held his bow tightly in his hand, trying to focus on anything other than the pain in his knee as Iron Man carried him into the cabin and settled him on the couch. Stark had just got a bag of frozen peas duct taped around the archer's knee when Thor burst through the door dragging a bound Loki behind him.

Throwing the captive onto the nearest chair, Thor turned around to glare at Fenrir as he trailed in behind Steve, his tail between his legs. "I didn't bring him here," snapped the wolf, defensive despite being worn out from tangling with the trickster.

"First you appear, then Loki, from parts unknown and yet you claim they are unrelated. What evil have you crawled into bed with?" roared the thunder god, taking a menacing step towards Fenrir.

"Oh, I assure you, both things are very connected," taunted Loki, offering a particularly twisted smile to Stark and Barton; both who were watching him intently from across the coffee table.

"Enough!" shouted Rogers, stepping in between Fenrir and Thor. "We need to figure out what's going on, not start with the infighting again."

The prisoner's sharp chuckle broke the tense silence that had settled in the wake of Rogers' order. "You truly are sad pathetic creatures. I can only hope that I am allowed to watch when you're finally crushed like the ants you are. You have no idea what's coming." Despite being held captive by the brother he loathed and three of the five Misgardians he would sell his soul to feel their skulls crushed between his fingers, Loki's smile never wavered.

"I find it hard to believe there could be a bigger pain in the ass than you out there Loki," retorted Tony, laying on his professional smugness.

Cocking his head to the side, Loki's eyes narrowed in on Tony. His eyes boring into the billionaire's, he let his acidic words flow, "You people are sheep, ambling along, gorging yourselves, unaware of the wolves descending upon you. You shouldn't worry yourselves with me, when there are much larger and more frightening things that go bump in the night. And they're coming, I've seen them."

Everyone was silent as they contemplated the possible doom lurking on the horizon. It was a possibility that slept in the back of everyone's mind, that something else was lurking in the darkness waiting to finish what the Chitauri had started. But could anything Loki said be more than posturing?

"He's a cheery short of fellow isn't he?" piped up Stark.

"Pathetic ramblings by a wretched soul," countered Thor, even as he searched his brother's eyes for the truth of the matter. Loki's banishment had sent him out alone, the likelihood was releasing Fenrir was a means to an end in some scheme to seek vengeance.

"For once in your life, use that big blond head of yours," snapped the trickster, "whether I like it or not, my fate is tied to that of Asgard. It is known too well that I was once a prince of Asgard, its rightful King who was dethroned, but I'm thrown in with you none the less. Unfortunately we have the same enemies. So it appears that the enemy of thy enemy is thy friend and you'd do well to untie me."

The trickster let out a sharp grunt as the familiar burn of an arrow tore its way through his other shoulder, pinning him to the lazy boy. The Avengers all turned to the archer propping himself awkwardly on the couch, bow clenched in his hand. A slight smile graced his lips balanced out by the faint look of shock on Loki's face.

"There aren't enough enemies between us for us to ever be friends," Clint snarled. Pointing to his shoulders, Barton chuckled, "Now you have a matching set."

"Stark, get him out of here," said Steve. He couldn't deny that he would love to knock Loki around himself. Hell, out of all of them, Clint probably deserved it more but it wasn't going to help anyone figure out the ultimate design of recent events.

Tony helped lift Clint up, wrapping the archer's arm around his neck, they slowly made their way to the kitchen. They paused just in front of Loki. Stark leaned forward, wrapping his hand around the embedded arrow. "Allow me to help you with that." A quick tug and grunt for the trickster, the arrow was free. "Better?"

"Quiet," mumbled the prisoner, not wanting to give his nemesis the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

The two men continued on to the kitchen, the smile never leaving Clint's face.

"I will take Loki back to Asgard where the Allfather will get him to tell us everything he has learned about possible new threats to Misgard," offered Thor, clamping a large hand on his brother's shoulder. "We would not be able to travel until tomorrow."

Steve paced back and forth in front of the couch. "Is there somewhere we can secure him until then?"

"The rope was sent by Heimdall, it will hold. That is the reason we must wait until tomorrow. I sought council with my father on the subject of Fenrir." The wolf bared his teeth at the mention of his name in conjunction with the Allfather but made no move to attack. Unfazed by his nephew's mild show of aggression, the thunder god continued, "The bifrost is not yet restored and the current methods of travel are very taxing. Hemidall will not be able to transport anything again until tomorrow."

"About that other matter..." Steve couldn't fight back the worry that he was going to fail Fenrir, the creature that dared to save his life and more recently the lives of his team.

"The Allfather has decided to reconsider. Fenrir will return with us to Asgard where he will be transported to another realm. He will be forced to stay there but free in his daily activities."

"So a prisoner with a larger, nicer cage."

"The threat from Fenrir still stands. This is the best the Allfather can do," assured Thor.

"And what if I refuse to go with you?" asked Fenrir, bitterness dripping from each word.

Thor readjusted his grip on his hammer. "You will come. This is not a game; the fate of all the realms hangs in the balance. It is bigger than any of us."

"And these are the people you've thrown your lot in with," interrupted Loki, glaring at Fenrir. The stare was so intense that the wolf almost let out a yelp as his but hit the floor under the sheer weight it. A momentary flicker of hurt danced in Loki's eyes at the mention of his son's recent choice.

Ignoring the trickster, Steve shot Thor a glare of his own. "That's the best you can do?" He wasn't delusional enough to believe that he could actually stop Thor from doing anything, especially if the rest of the team wasn't in agreement, but it just didn't feel right to treat Fenrir as a criminal.

"For now," gritted the thunder god through clenched teeth. He had tried to see his teammate's point of view but with the safety of his family and the universe at stake, it was hard to offer mercy, it was even harder to want to offer mercy. Loki had been given every advantage the house of Odin could bestow and still he didn't hesitate a second to turn on them. Neither of Fenrir's parents were honourable people, what hope could they have that he wouldn't fulfill the prophecy; his word would carry no weight.

Rogers could sense the uneasy acceptance radiating from Fenrir. He longed for the first days when it had just been the two of them existing in an easy companionship of man and wolf; things had been so much easier floating in that complicated sea of personal demons compared to trying to navigate the storm of distress they found themselves in now. Add to the complicated mix, the fact that Fenrir was being rewarded for saving them from Loki by being locked up as well and it almost became too much for the Captain to stomach. "Put Loki in the cellar. We don't need to listen to his lies anymore today."

Thor nodded, grabbing his brother none to gently before dragging him out of the room.

"Are you alright?" asked Steve, when Fenrir had failed to make a sound.

The wolf ducked his head. "There's nothing to be done, you know. When the Allfather has made his mind up, there's no changing it and there's no escaping it. I was a fool to think this would last; freedom is fleeting after all." The blond opened his mouth to speak but Fenrir shook his head. There were no words that were going to make it better, nothing to be said that would change the situation; it was over, the other side would be triumphant. "What's going to become of Loki?" he asked, his voice almost fond despite having taking action against the man moments earlier.

"He'll go back to Asgard, and after that it's up to Odin. I imagine this being his third strike it won't be pretty."

The terrible feeling of failure gnawed at Fenrir's insides. He knew he couldn't let his father hurt Rogers but it was hard to find solace in the fact that he facilitated his father's incarceration and punishment, which would probably be as horrible as the one Fenrir himself had escaped. "I'm going to go for a run. Probably be the last time I get to stretch my legs for awhile," said the wolf, misery evident in every word. "You can tell the warden not to worry, I'll be back."

Steve watched helplessly as Fenrir slunk out of the cabin. He never liked feeling powerless and lately it felt like he was drowning in it.

* * *

The door to the kitchen swung open and both occupants glanced over as Steve sauntered into the room. Tony had his phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder while he ran his hands over Barton's knee. The archer had propped himself up to watch Stark's ministrations as the man prodded at his injury; his face scrunching up every so often as Tony pressed a little too hard.

"No, that's definitely what it feels like," answered Stark into the phone. "Yeah, I'll pick that up and make sure he uses them. Thanks Bruce." Tony put the phone down and set to work duct tapping a bag of frozen carrots around the injured knee.

"How bad is it?" asked Rogers, nodding towards the man on the table. He had an uneasy feeling that with the way things had been going the archer probably suffered irreparable damage.

"Can't be sure without an x-ray," started the billionaire, giving Barton a stern look, "but based on the exam Banner walked me through and Hawkeye's _extensive_ experience with injury, he probably set himself back by a couple of weeks."

Barton rolled his eyes but refused to engage in Tony's game. Besides, it was really a case of the pot calling the kettle black; when had Tony ever done the smart thing and tended to personal injury over backing the team.

"You should take him back to the city and have it properly looked at," stated Rogers.

"He's right here," interrupted Clint, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself to a sitting position, the knee refusing to unlock even an inch. "I'm not going anywhere while Loki's tied in the cellar and that wolf's lurking around."

"Bruce is calling in a prescription for some anti-inflammatory and painkillers at the local pharmacist. I'll go pick it up and he'll be fine until tomorrow," added Tony, trying to spare everyone one of Captain America's lectures. "And Banner wanted me to impart to you that he can be here as fast as SHIELD can move, all you have to do is give the word. I told him to wait on that. Figured if you wanted SHIELD to be aware of your meddling with Asgardian justice, you'd have called them already. For the record though, this is why Bruce doesn't do _relaxing, stress free_ weekends with us apparently."

The statement might have been classic Stark but the sentiment behind leaving SHIELD out was refreshing. Of all the times Steve believed Stark would run to SHIELD, it would when he was trying to circumnavigate the organization for his own personal moral reasons. Turning to Clint, he asked, "You're sure?"

Grabbing his crutches from Tony, Barton slid off the table with a grace no injured person should possess. "I'm sure." The statement left no room for negotiation; the archer was staying no matter what and that was final.

* * *

Silence had descended upon the cabin as night blanketed the Earth. The Avengers turned in early slipping into uneasy sleep while Thor had volunteered to take first watch of the prisoner. Leaving Loki to sit in the darkness by himself, the thunder god took to pacing in front of the cellar access.

It was like a gentle whisper running up his arms, the sensation that stirred Loki out of his thoughts. "I wondered when you'd show up," commented Loki before raising his head to stare at his guest. "What did you do to Thor?"

Fenrir stared at his father for a moment, reconsidering everything he thought he wanted to say. "You're not the only one that learned a few tricks. The sleeping dust will ware off in a couple of hours, with no ill effects."

"Pitty," sneered Loki, flexing his wrists as best he could against his restraints. "Such treachery from my own offspring; I should be impressed. One can only hope their children will take after them."

"I'm nothing like you!" Fenrir growled, stomping his paw for added emphasise. The one thing he had promised himself during his years of captivity had been to never stand idly by while some was punished for who they were rather than what they had done. Loki's silence over the years had been the hardest betrayal he had ever had to suffer.

"Oh but you are. Unfortunately you betrayed the wrong person. I came here to assure your safety. You think you just happened to be released? You are a pawn in a much bigger game and as your father, I sought to remove you from this game," lectured the trickster. His smug look was tempered with concern and possibly guilt, hidden under his usual arrogance.

"Parent?" the wolf sputtered offended. "What minute are you referring to?" The silence stretched at Loki's lack of defence.

"Do you really want to go back to your prison?" The words were soft, full of sincerity and for a moment it succeeded in easing Fenrir's nerves.

Did the wolf want to go back to the life he had been forced to endure? The easy answer was a resounding no. Did Fenrir believe for one second that the Allfather would truly lessen his sentence? Again, no. Even if Rogers had sparked some reconsideration in Asgard, a gilded cage was still a cage.

The word was barley a whisper and Loki had to strain his ears to pick it up. "No." The simple answer held more defeat than the slumped posture of his son.

* * *

A sharp thud roused Steve from his restless sleep. A storm had blown in during the night causing the rain to beat down on the roof and the tree branches to smack against the window but that wasn't responsible for waking the Captain. He sat in bed listening for the disturbance again. Thud. Getting to his feet he left his room, creeping down the stairs so as not to give his position away.

There was no sign of Barton or Stark and for a moment, he thought he imagined it. Something banged again and Steve's spine locked as he realized what it was. The cellar door was wide open, the doors banging against the ground as the wind came up.

Steve shot from the cabin, frantically searching for any sign of his teammate, Fenrir or their captive. His heart almost stopped as he found Thor prone on the ground. Shaking fingers searched for a pulse, before slapping the larger man to wake him from his slumber. The thunder god didn't so much as stir. With no visible injuries, Steve dragged his unconscious friend onto the porch and set forth in search of the other Asgardians.

A deep sense of fear was burrowing into his soul. What if Loki had taken Fenrir? What if he had been too blind by morals to see this impending betrayal?

One moment Rogers was on his feet the next he was face down in the mud unable to move. Desperately he tried to get his limbs to cooperate but it felt as though a house had come crashing down on him. He did move under the force of a vicious kick knocking him onto his back. Blinking away the rainwater, Loki appeared towering over him.

"Well, well, if it isn't the soldier who thought he could turn my son against me," snapped Loki. The mischievous grin of the cat who caught the mouse on his pale face.

"There's nothing I could do to turn him against you. From what I understand, you did that yourself," replied Steve, bracing himself for another kick.

"I will relieve you of your burden of caring then," cackled Loki, raising his staff to deliver one final blow.

"Stop!" howled Fenrir. "If you want out of Misgard, then you have to leave him alone."

Loki paused mid motion, curling his lips in disgust.

"I mean it father."

Loki's hand tightened on the staff. He hesitated but a moment before complying to his son's condition. "Very well. Your luck seems to continue Captain, but it will soon come to an end."

A bright ball of light appeared behind Fenrir and Steve had to shut his eyes against the intensity of it. When he opened them again, Loki was standing in front of the light. "Tell the archer I owe him two now." The parting words were uttered with the trickster's usual malice and the blond had no doubt Loki's main target on the team would be Barton.

With Loki gone, the force holding Steve down disappeared, allowing him to sit up in time to see Fenrir turning to enter the portal. "Why?" The questioned echoed every ounce of hurt and betrayal he felt. He could scramble to his feet, stop Fenrir from leaving but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Fenrir paused for a moment, glancing at Steve one last time. "Because there are bigger monsters out there for you to worry about. And... because he's my father." The statement lacked conviction but Fenrir followed through by stepping into the light. A second later the portal disappeared leaving the forest in blackness and Steve all alone.

* * *

Fury sat on the opposite side of the table as Tony Stark. His expressionless face like a stone mask, never once betraying a single thought as listened to the billionaire's recount of the cluster-fuck in the forest.

Normally Tony loved the sound of his own voice but he was thankful that his tale had come to an end. An awkward silence stretched and he had to resort to tapping his fingers on the conference room table to distract himself from Fury's scrutiny.

Fury finally dropped the hand he had resting under his chin onto the official report laying on the table before shifting slightly in his chair. Leaning forward he asked, "And that's the story you're going to go with?"

Tony swallowed, rubbing the back of his head nervously. Let it never be said that one on one confrontation with Fury wasn't intimidating. "I don't know what to tell you, that's what happened," he offered with as much sincerity as he could muster.

"I'm going to _choose_ to believe that four of my best people were blindsided by the random appearance of Loki, whom you managed to capture, yet somehow slipped out in the middle of the night, leaving Earth untouched." Tony shivered at the calm words that managed to hold all the bite and promise of unimaginable influence without specifying exactly what horrors await, should they fall out of the Director's good graces.

"The truth is what the truth is," Tony offered with a shrug, silently praying for some world ending disaster to occur so he could retreat from the room.

"I bet," doubted Fury. Picking up his files he moved silently to the door, letting Stark fret for a few more seconds. Before crossing the threshold to the hall he called out, "Don't let it ever be said I didn't ever do anything for you."

"He's going to murder me in my sleep," Tony mumble, grabbing his box off the table and sauntering into the hall. It was easy to up against Fury when the truth was on his side or he had the leverage of being useful. Outright _editing_ events to a master spy, that undoubtedly could give a more detailed account of what transpired than Tony who was actually there could, oddly terrifying. It could prove to be his new adrenalin fix.

"Fury buy it?" asked Barton hobbling around the corner on his crutches.

"No, but I don't think he's going to press the issue. Next time Rogers can clean up his own mess! How's the knee by the way?" Stark slowed his pace to fall in step with his teammate.

Clint shrugged his shoulder before letting out a sigh. "My medical leaves been extended, but so far it looks like they won't have to operate again. Might get to lose these things in two weeks," he added hopefully, hefting his left crutch in the air.

"Here," said the inventor shoving the long narrow box he was carrying at Clint. The archer looked at it sceptically before Tony pushed it at him again.

"Should I be worried?" he asked, gently pulling at the brown paper taped around the box.

Tony rolled his eyes but didn't dignify the question with a response. It took a lot of self control not to rip the box out of Barton's hands and open it a more acceptable speed. When Hawkeye finally got the box open, his lost look was worth the effort Tony had undergone to put the contents together. Really gestures of any kind weren't really Stark's style, appropriate gestures being way out of his normal response, but he was quiet impressed with his latest feat.

"You're making gold plated arrows now?" posed Clint, freeing the arrow from the box. It glistened and sparkled under the bright lights of Stark Tower. "That'll get expensive."

"No," huffed Tony, "just... read it."

Fastened to the middle of the shaft of the now gold plated arrow was a silver plate with an inscription. "The arrow that pierced a god," read Clint, fighting hard to keep all emotion out of his voice. If his mask slipped revealing gratitude and appreciation while his hands trembled slightly, neither chose to acknowledge it.

"I know you haven't been able to get the satisfaction of mounting that bastard's head on your wall, but I figured this was at least an impressive feat you can take solace in."

"Thanks," whispered Barton, gripping the arrow tight in his hand. It had felt really good to put an arrow in the trickster, even if it wasn't through an eye socket.

Uncomfortable with the whole demonstration of emotion, Stark mumbled some excuse to flee to the safety of his lab. Clint carefully put his new prized possession safely back in the box and made his way into the gym. Physical therapy was never fun but he had a team to get back to. The rapid thud of someone connecting with a punching bag greeted Clint as he entered the gym. Steve didn't even look up as he entered, just continued his relentless attack on the bag posing as the man's problems.

"Keep that up we won't have enough punching bags to get through the day," offered the archer as the bag went flying across the gym after a particularly vicious right hook from the Captain.

Rogers dropped his hands to his knees trying to catch his breath as the sweat poured off of him. "I don't understand," he wheezed.

Clint quirked an eyebrow. "Well, Stark only has so many of those in stock..."

Steve shook his head before wiping his hair out of his eyes. "Not that. I don't understand why he did it." Clint waited for Steve to catch his breath to see if he was going to elaborate. "Fenrir saved my life. Why would he do that if he was just going to side with Loki?"

This was actually something Barton had a wealth of experience in. Flopping down on the bench, Rogers joined him. "When it comes to family," started Clint, trying to fight back the personal demons that threaten to descend upon him, "you always do the stupidly loyal thing. Trust me, Loki may have let them chain Fenrir up, imprison him for however long, but at the end of the day, it's still his father. There are just some people we'll be loyal to no matter how many times they burn us and we'll love them in spite of it. Some loyalties just trump self-preservation even when we know it's wrong to continue down that path."

The archer spoke with an honesty that screamed of betrayal first hand and part of Rogers ached for him. This was just another puddle of muddled grey tainting his formerly black and white world. Somewhere in the last seventy years the world lost some of its idealistic moral shine, leaving an ambiguous pallet of grey fraught with landmines.

"Just got to do the best you can Cap, and hope for the best. I wouldn't take it personally. He did save your life when he could have walked away. At the very least you showed him that someone is capable of compassion. And take it from me, that can make all the difference in the world, just showing that one person cares." Clint pat the blond on the shoulder before giving him the solitude his slumped shoulder indicated he needed. "If it means anything to you, I think you might have a few stupidly loyal people in your corner."

The sentiment did make Steve feel slightly better. Trying to put himself in Fenrir's place, though he didn't agree with the outcome of recent events, he realized there were a handful of people he would do the same for. In the vast sea of questions and unknowns that was the best he could hope for; despite their differences and disagreements they had each other backs. Hopefully that would be enough to see them through whatever dangers were lurking in the darkness.

The end

* * *

**Thank-you to everyone who read this story. A super big thanks to those that continuously read my stories and show their support.**

**Endless thanks and much appreciation to anyone reviewed this story and those who have been following me from the beginning**

**Thank you to Twisted-67 for the prompt. I hope it measured up to what you were hoping for.**

The next story will be an AU story that will work its way around to fit into this universe; _**Forlorn Hope**_. Loki has claimed the Earth but a pesky group of resistance fighters led by would be heroes are a constant thorn in his side. With the age of man coming to a close can the heroes rise up and stop him or will the human race be crushed under Loki's army?

Following that will be _Birds of a Feather Flock Together_. Superheroes: a preposterous idea that sounds crazy in theory as well as practice. It would make sense that a group of mentally unstable individuals would create a fantasy world in which they were heroes that saved the world on a regular basis. If one was to pretend to be a superhero why would they go with archer but more importantly, Clint can't shake the feeling that it's all true despite the padded walls and what the doctor handing out the pills is telling him.


End file.
